


Proposal (With a Problem)

by lunchbucket



Series: Pettyverse [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Attorney Sirius, Comedy, Lawyer Sirius, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Skiing, Vacation, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 44,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27590828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunchbucket/pseuds/lunchbucket
Summary: On their two year anniversary, Remus has the perfect plan to propose to Sirius during a ski vacation in the mountains. A week away from work, just the two of them, surrounded by picturesque views and world-class skiing, he's going to make this sexy prosecutor his fiancé. What could possibly go wrong?Sequel to Petty (With a Prior).
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Pettyverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000530
Comments: 242
Kudos: 292





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> Strongly recommend you read Petty (With a Prior) before starting this one to really appreciate the characters!

If Remus Lupin was asked to summarize the last two years of his life, he would choose to do so using a montage straight from an early 90s rom-com. Set to the tune of _Just Like Heaven,_ the scenes would show, one after another, what had been his happiest moments to date. The stable, tried-and-true elements of his life that were always a constant source of fulfillment — work, cycling, cooking, the like — still mattered, but memories with Sirius had risen to the forefront and colored his existence in a dazzling richness he never imagined possible. 

The montage would start with their first chaotic kiss in the elevator, which turned into weekly Wednesday lunches at the courthouse whose drab 70’s dungeon lighting he’d come to appreciate. To when Remus drunkenly announced “it’s showtime, folks” before they sat down to play Code Names one Saturday night at the Potters’, and Jim (or James as he now knows him) proclaimed their shared mantra was proof they had a spiritual connection and that he’d known it from the start. The first time Sirius met Remus’ parents, and his mother had shot him an immediate thumbs up and a double-wink behind Sirius’ back as if to say, ‘this one’s a winner, Remus, I’m so proud of you my son’ (for the record, it was not covert — Sirius caught both winks). Long walks and Sunday picnics in the park, where Sirius seemed to make lasting friendships with every dog in the city. The date night when Sirius royally botched his attempt at baking a chicken for dinner — _sorry, Remus, I’m more of a red meat guy, but I’ll get the hang of it_ — and the fact that Remus ate it anyway, raging stomach flu be damned.

And there was the time, when six months into dating, Remus was unable to control himself any longer and blurted out to Sirius that he was in love with him — in the very town to which they were heading now, just the two of them ahead of miles of open road. And right after, when Sirius had responded with, “Well, what took you so long? I’ve loved you since you flipped me off in the elevator. “

These had been the best two years of his life. And most of the credit was due to Sirius Black being a part of it.

So while Remus sits quietly in the passenger seat of Sirius’ Range Rover, people-watching the others entering the gas station from the safety of the tinted windows, he experiences a certain type of bliss that had actually become ordinary in his life. A sureness he’d never felt about another person before. A renewed sense of excitement that he experienced upon waking up each and every morning, not knowing exactly what the day would bring but resting assured whatever it was would be good. He hadn’t been with Sirius for too long, relatively speaking, but when he reflected on his life prior, he felt like a new man altogether. Goodbye caterpillar. _Hello butterfly._

They had stopped halfway through the drive — about two and a half hours in like they always did on their way up to the mountains. Remus insisted on refilling their gas tank even though they were still two-thirds full, and Sirius took the opportunity for a bathroom break, but mostly the opportunity to peruse the candy aisle. Remus, a food-prepper to his very core, had a cooler full of ‘Remus food’, as Sirius so cleverly called it these days — healthy staples like sliced veggies, oranges, nuts, just to name a few — but sometimes Sirius needed ‘a little something extra Remus, come on, it’s my _vacation_.’” 

But Remus knows that the vacation aspect of it is irrelevant, although he would never actually say it to _that_ face. The man loves his snacks, and who is Remus to deny him that joy.

So when Sirius exits the gas station holding a flimsy white plastic bag in one hand, and using the other to pull out something that he is able to identify from experience as gummies, Remus’ face lights up brightly. Sirius is walking towards the car wearing a pair of black jeans that look like they were made for him, with a half-zip forest green wool sweater that Remus had gotten him for his 35th birthday last November. And while he loves seeing his man in a suit, it hits even harder seeing him in everyday clothes, particularly ones that Remus bought him. Because this is _his_ Sirius, and few others ever have the opportunity to witness him just being.

Remus lets out a long sigh. One of pure contentment. Because this is the start of an entire week off of work, an entire week spent with hands-down the most charming man on the planet, whom he loves more than he has ever loved anybody or anything. 

And by the end of it, he thinks as the driver side door swings open, they are going to be engaged. 

“So they didn’t have the Haribo gummy bears that I love,” Sirius chimes as he mosies his way into the seat and sets the bag on the center console. “And you know I can’t handle second best when I’ve experienced perfection,” he carries on in an incredibly weighty tone before closing the door behind him, “so I got Sour Patch Kids instead.”

Filled with so much adoration that he feels like he might just burst altogether, Remus leans over, grabs Sirius by the sweater, and pulls him in for a kiss. Remus has certainly softened over the years, but there is something about this trip that has cracked him open completely. He’s looked forward to it, worked up to it, for months. And now they are here. Just the two of them. With the rest of their lives ahead of them. 

Sirius kisses him back, swallowing a choke of surprise first, but recovering quickly as a hand moves up to cup Remus’ jaw affectionately. Remus has always loved how Sirius kisses. It’s as though he puts his entire being into it, surrenders without thought, all as a way to communicate just how much of a priority Remus is to him. 

_Sirius Black,_ Remus recites the speech in his head he has been working on for months as his lips slide softly against his partner’s, _every single day I have spent with you has been an adventure._ Sirius’ tongue slides into his mouth and Remus does not mind a single bit that the kiss is sour and artificial cherry and Sirius, all mixed together. _Before I met you, I thought I knew what happiness meant—_

“Babe,” Sirius whispers against his mouth, his hand having slid down Remus’ neck, and now his fingers are reaching beneath the collar of his shirt. 

“Mmm?” Remus acknowledges as he nestles into the crook of Sirius’ neck, truly wondering if this is what Cloud Nine feels like and deciding that he never wants to come back down from it. 

“Babe, we are going to fuck in every position known to man this week,” Sirius mutters matter-of-factly into his ear. “Against the wall. On your knees. On your back. On _my_ back,” he trails on and on, really piquing Remus’ interest when he mentions something involving the splits given that neither of them are _that_ flexible, unless Sirius has been working on precisely that in his free time. And although it isn’t quite what Remus was expecting to hear in his love-drunk stupor, love and sex certainly do go together, so he won’t deny the jolt of electricity that zaps through his body as soon as he hears the words. Because—

“It has been a little while since we’ve been able to do any of that,” Remus confirms, shifting back so that he is face-to-face with Sirius again to lean in for one last lingering kiss, one he’s sure that at some level communicates the plans he has in store, before settling in to fasten his seatbelt. Sirius’ gaze stays trained on him for a couple of beats, much to Remus’ pleasure, before he takes a deep breath and reaches for his own seatbelt. He grabs for another handful of Sour Patch Kids, then drops the plastic bag onto Remus’ lap and starts the engine. 

“Ready for the two hours?” Sirius asks as he pulls out of the gas station and navigates back onto the route. It’s mostly cloudy outside, but Sirius reaches for his sunglasses out of the center console and puts them on all the same. “It’s not supposed to snow again until Tuesday, but I do want to get over the pass quickly just in case.”

Sexy _and_ safety-conscious — Remus is certain he won the fucking romance lottery. This realization is almost as thrilling as the time James presented him with an ancient photo of Sirius at law school graduation when his hair was long enough to sport a man bun. And holy shit, it’s hard to compare to that, but here we are.

“It’s my favorite part of the drive,” Sirius continues, and Remus is already anticipating when mountain roads turn more narrow and become tunnels winding through snow-covered pine and aspen trees. “It’s like an intensifying ascension into a winter wonderland,” he concludes, clearly satisfied by how dreamy he has made the journey sound. 

“Except for that time traffic was at a standstill for three hours when that car slid off the road—“

“Yes, except for that time,” Sirius capitulates.

“—and you had to pee so badly that you were screaming at everything and everyone around you.”

“Yes,” Sirius huffs with a nod. “Thank you. I eventually realized when enough was enough,” he says, referring to when Remus practically forced him out of the car and into the privacy of the woods.

“Good on you for finally doing what had to be done,” Remus comments.

“Never drinking coffee _and_ water on the way up again,” Sirius declares at that. And it’s a strategy that is working fine thus far for both of them. That one measly cup of coffee he had in the morning when it’s laced with the absolute zeal for life coursing through his veins is more than enough to keep him going for the rest of the day. No need for semi-public urination in 20 degree weather this time for either of them. 

A few minutes pass in silence, save for the sound of the heavy car cutting through cold air and the snow crunching beneath its tires as they zoom onward. 

“Can you patch me?”

Remus glances around, and after a beat his eyes land on Sirius. “What?” 

Sirius nods once without taking his eyes off the road. “Sour Patch me.”

“Oh, of course,” Remus agrees, poking around in the gas station bag and finding not just an open pack of Sour Patch Kids, but also a bag of Fritos, trail mix, and a whole pickle in a bag. Remus’ digestive system could _never._

He dumps a few gummies into Sirius’ outstretched hand.

“Thanks babe,” he says, eyes focused on the road as he tosses a green gummy child into his mouth. The snow bank on the shoulder of the road is getting higher and higher as they continue driving forward, and although the roads have been cleared and are totally safe, Sirius is zoned in as he chews. Remus gazes at him in adoration.

And there’s that. The fact that the two of them are opposites in many respects, and yet so alike that they are able to appreciate each other fully. Flaws and differences and all. Like the first time that Remus stayed at Sirius’ house the night before one of his trials and woke up to hear AC/DC’s _Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap_ blaring from the kitchen. After wandering out into the kitchen to find an already gym + showered + caffeinated Sirius manning the stove, he’d turned the song off, as it was a bit too harsh for 6:45am by his estimation. But what a mistake that had been, as Sirius froze immediately, spatula in hand, except for his head, which turned on the spot to give Remus a glare that could make even the toughest of men wilt.

 _“It’s three minutes,”_ he’d snapped at Remus in a completely uncharacteristic turn of events, waving the spatula frenetically. _“All I need is three fucking minutes.”_

But oh ho ho, this is something that Remus understood to his core. Something that they had gloriously in common, come to find out. Something about this spontaneous firecracker of a man that Remus could comprehend at a soul level. A routine, a _ritual,_ to give a big day the start it deserved, to tell the universe, fuck you man, I can handle this challenge you’re throwing to me — and more _._ Remus of all people understood the power of the almighty _routine_ to propel a day forward into greatness _._ Dirty deeds done dirt cheap and an omelet with swiss cheese and bell peppers before a big trial had far more significance than most people realized, but Remus wasn’t most people. Oh no.

Frankly, as Sirius’ eyes practically burned holes through his head, Remus had been utterly charmed. 

He’d turned the song back on. And the volume up.

_Sirius Black. Every single day I have spent with you has been an adventure._

“Why did you buy a pickle?” Remus asks, finally registering what he saw in the bag of mystery, “From a gas station?”

“I bought that for you!” Sirius explains, giving the rear-view mirror a quick check, “I figured it was the most ‘healthy’ thing they had to offer and I couldn’t come back empty-handed.”

“Well that’s…” Remus starts, pressing his lips into a thin line as he searches for the right words. “That is very sweet.” And even though he really doesn’t need a pickle from a gas station, nor has he been known as a pickle kind of guy to start with, his words are genuine, because Sirius’ heart is in the right place and he goddamn loves him for that. “Thank you.” 

_Before I met you, I thought I knew what happiness meant. I thought my life was fulfilling enough. But you went and blew all of those notions out of the water the day you entered my life._

“Are you excited to ski, just the two of us this time?” Sirius’ voice pulls him out of it for the time being. 

“Very,” Remus answers with enthusiasm, and he means it. Not that it isn’t _fun_ when James comes. But Remus becomes more of a third wheel on those occasions — one that isn’t quite as proficient as its two counterparts, which inevitably causes some stress. “Although I don’t want you to think you can’t do some of your harder runs. I know my way around the blues enough if you want to take some blacks. We can always coordinate a meeting spot if we want to separate.”

“Nope,” Sirius pops out the word without a second’s pause. “This is the trip where all my attention will be on you. And I’m going to get you so confident in your abilities that you’re going to be eager to try a blue-black. Maybe even a black by the end of the week. Wherever you go, I go too.”

Remus smiles like an idiot.

_I never thought I was cut out for this kind of love… the kind of love that is all-consuming and uplifting and literally puts a smile on my face every single morning I wake up knowing that you exist._

“I’m so excited,” he divulges, and he is excited about the skiing, but in this moment, he only has eyes for getting Sirius alone in a setting where a high-speed metal death machine isn’t involved — because Christ, there’s only so much he can take without pouncing. 

“You’re already good enough is the thing! We just have to get you more confident with speed, make sure your turns cut a little deeper, really rely on those hips of yours more than your shoulders. Because we already know they are mobile enough, not to mention your leg strength from cycling.”

_It seems like everything always matches up perfectly between us._

“I’m thinking we’ll start on the runs you love,” Sirius carries on. 

_You lift me up in the areas of life where I need it most._

“Head straight over to the backside of the mountain. Start on Tomahawk. Then take the lift back up for Sunshine Lift Line, because,” Sirius glances over him for a split-second, but it’s enough for Remus to notice the glint in his eye, “I know that’s your favorite. And you’ll be warmed up enough to kick my ass on it like you always do.”

_You quell all of my greatest fears and insecurities, and I strive as hard as I can to do the same for you._

“We’ll run that a couple of times. Head down Quicksilver, then we’ll skirt on over to High Noon, stop at Thunderhead Lodge for a quick breather, get you a coffee if you’re really feeling frisky—”

_Simply put, I love you. You’ve not only given me an all-encompassing love, but you’ve also made everything around me brighter in the process._

“—you know, schmooze around with the locals for a while like we like to do. A little chit chat here and there never hurt anybody. _And then,_ Remus, that is when we will head back up — when you’re feeling warmed up and confident from the elite instruction I’ll be giving you all morning — and we’ll take the green run over to One O’Clock. You know, the blue-black that I think would be the perfect transition for you?”

_You’ve caused me to have faith and trust in the world, and an optimistic outlook that has improved my life in more ways than I can count._

“Jesus, you’re going to smoke it. You’re going to wonder how the hell you ever thought you weren’t an excellent skier,” Sirius waxes on and on, mentioning something about a special ski lift at the bottom of One O’Clock that Remus hasn’t taken yet. Remus loves it when Sirius really gets going like this, his voice lulling him like a song that Remus honestly never wants to stop listening to. “We just have to give you a little boost of confidence, a little kick in the ass. A little fear can be a good thing sometimes, don’t you think? Once you tackle that, you’ll be unstoppable.”

_I don’t want to spend a single day of my life going forward without you._

“Rem?”

_Sirius, will you marry me?_

“Remus?” Sirius puts out, louder this time.

It’s effective enough to pull Remus out of his half-trance, and he finally registers that he is expected to respond verbally now. “I love that plan,” he accidentally speaks a little breathlessly but he’s sure that detail has gone unnoticed. 

Sirius smiles brightly. “Now I’m not saying you’ll ever surpass my ski skills — because that’s half of my allure to you and I’m going to cling to that with a death grip — but we can make it a goal for you to surpass James.”

Remus snorts. “Shut up. That’s never going to happen.”

Sirius laughs quietly back at him. “No, probably not, but Lily and I can dream,” he says. “You do look way better in bike shorts than he does, so we have to let him hold on to some amount of dignity.” 

“And I’ll cling to that victory for the rest of my life,” Remus concedes, as irrelevant as the point is.

A hand comes to rest on his knee now that the road has leveled out for the time being, and a small squeeze follows shortly after. The two of them fall silent for a while as the landscape around them transforms into a snowy paradise, a sea of tightly packed pine trees surrounding them in all directions — their deep green needles barely peeking out from underneath the pearlescent layers of white that has settled over them the last six months. It really is a breathtaking preview of the beauty that awaits them at the top of the mountain, further building Remus’ anticipation for the magical days to come.

Away from work for an entire week, just he and Sirius for the first time in two years. Waking up in the same place for seven days straight, no interruptions, no emails, no obligations, just a taste of domestic bliss before they truly start to live their lives together. 

And Remus is absolutely _giddy_ for it. 

“Do you want to put some music on?” Sirius asks as his hand moves back to the steering wheel. 

“Ah,” Remus breathes out as he is broken out of his daydream. About one hour to go, and yes, he’s down to DJ. “Absolutely,” he says, pulling up his Spotify app and letting Talking Heads serenade them into paradise.

*****

It’s just past six o’clock in the evening when Remus pushes his way through the front door of the townhouse they rented for the week. Upon first glance he’s met with dark wood floors, a roaring fire, and exposed, rustic wooden beams, giving the townhouse a very cabin-like feel that immediately fills him with warmth, literally and figuratively. Leather sofas are situated across from the fireplace that must have been turned on just for their arrival, and the scene is so idyllic and cozy contrasted with the cold weather outside — there are huge fluffy snowbanks visible right outside through the floor-to-ceiling windows — that Remus’ jaw actually goes slack.

“We picked the right place,” Remus remarks joyfully as he pulls his suitcase through the kitchen and to the stairs just beyond it. Sirius follows right behind with a large suitcase of his own, and as soon as he is close enough, Remus turns to pull him in by the hips for an embrace, resting his chin on Sirius’ shoulder and rocking the two of them from side to side.

Sirius sighs out, and Remus reads it as one of bliss. His own arms wrap around Remus’ waist to pull him closer. A kiss to his temple, and then, “Happy Anniversary.” 

Remus smiles against his skin at that, humming at the acknowledgement of the best two years of his life — somehow brought to him during the stupidest two days of his life (and all in all, that really is a good life lesson he thinks, one to flesh out later when he doesn’t have more exciting things to do with his time). They rock back and forth a couple beats more, and Remus knows for certain that he is not the only one enjoying the closeness. 

“Happy Anniversary,” Remus mirrors the sentiment. “Feels like so long since we’ve had any time together, just the two of us.” 

“With all that traveling you’ve had to do, it really has been forever.” Sirius’ voice comes out low and strong, and it’s great to know they are on the same page. Because although it hasn’t really been _forever,_ it has been long enough that Remus feels like he may physically explode if one of them does not get thoroughly dicked down within the next hour. 

Fingers tap up his arm and stop at his shoulders. “I’ll take the suitcases upstairs and you bring in the groceries?” Sirius suggests, pulling Remus out of all of these _thoughts_ he is having. “And then we can take a tour of the place and open up one of those bottles of wine you brought?”

That’s right, they had stopped by the grocery store before check-in knowing that once they got inside they certainly weren’t going to want to leave before breakfast the following morning. Remus gives his head a quick nod, Sirius leaves a chaste kiss on his lips, and Remus pushes away back towards the garage. “Let’s do it. Go team.”

The next series of arrival tasks goes smoothly enough, and they certainly are easy to execute with so much to look forward to this week. There’s something intoxicating about the beginning of vacation, where time feels almost unlimited, even though it’s just an illusion. But in this moment, as Remus finishes putting away the carton of eggs, whole grain bread, and… dulce de leche Snack Packs in the fridge — Remus doesn’t even bother wondering how those got there, as it would be a monumental waste of brain cells — it’s as though the two of them have all the time in the world. 

And soon, they will be engaged. 

A tour of the townhouse reveals a large master bedroom and an office on the top floor. The ground floor includes the kitchen, a dining area, and a large living room with the fireplace and gorgeous windows. Once they follow the stairs down into the basement they find two more bedrooms, and overall it is a far too massive space for the two of them, but the view of the mountain from this specific unit makes the extra money worth it. Not to mention the private hot tub on the back deck.

Remus goes to change into his swim trunks after the wonderful discovery — it wasn’t even mentioned when they booked the place, so it’s just another cherry on top of what will from here on out be described as the Perfect Trip, one they’ll talk about fondly for years and years to come — while Sirius goes on the hunt for swim towels. Figuring that dinner can wait when he has wine and a hot tub and a man named Sirius Black all to himself, Remus selects one of the above average bottles of wine he brought to really get things off to a grand start. 

It’s worth mentioning that it is not _the_ bottle of wine. _The_ bottle, from Law Vineyards. The one that he instructed Sirius absolutely not to touch until Remus determined the time was right. And it would be right very, oh so very soon. But not tonight. 

_Sirius Black. Every single day I have spent with you has been an adventure. Before I met you, I thought I knew what happiness meant, I thought my life was fulfilling enough._

“Sirius?” Remus calls out, breaking through the speech in his head, as he uses the wine opener to pull the cork out of the bottle. He waits for a response as he begins to rifle through the cabinets behind him to find either i) two wine glasses, or ii) two water glasses that he could substitute for wine glasses _if he must._

And damn, Remus should have remembered to bring his own, he laments internally.

“I’m outside!” A familiar voice calls in from the direction of the back deck, and Remus turns to find that the door is ajar. Sirius must have located the towels and made his way into the hot tub already. 

A minute later, Remus is holding two wine glasses as he moves through the kitchen and out the door to the deck. The sky is _just_ dark enough to set that romantic tone for the evening that Remus loves, and the fact that it adds a bit of additional privacy is another bonus as well. Sirius made good work of removing the cover off the hot tub, and as Remus moves closer, he finds it difficult to deny just how picturesque Sirius looks leaning against the back corner with the blue lights glowing under the water around him. 

“You got out here fast,” Remus remarks as he leans over to hand Sirius his glass of wine. The cold air hits him hard, and he finds himself scrambling up the steps and into the tub — the hot water just as much a shock to his system as the cold air. And it takes a moment, but once he settles in adjacent to Sirius, the temperature contrast is simply divine. 

Sirius takes a drink of wine. “You’re overdressed,” he comments.

“Hm?”

Sirius eyes him, then looks down at his trunks beneath the water, and then eyes him again. It only takes a couple more beats for Remus to realize—

“Sirius, we have neighbors,” he pronounces without an ounce of actual dissatisfaction. Just stating facts here, folks. He sinks down fully into the warm water and takes a slow, luxurious drink of wine as his eyes settle in on Sirius across the way. 

“And what would the _probative_ value of clothing be, Remus?” Sirius answers instead — to which Remus has no response at all — right before tacking on, “Plus it’s pretty private,” without a single bother.

Remus laughs. “The condos that overlook our deck beg to differ.” 

“Remus,” Sirius levels with him, “do you see these jets? All the bubbles enveloping us?”

“I do.” Remus surveys the hot tub. “I’ll allow it.”

Sirius snorts before Remus feels a foot give him a soft jab to the knee. “As if I needed your permission.”

Remus sends him a smirk, wondering just how long it’s going to take for one of them to make the first move here. Because really, Remus is aching for it. Sirius must be too. But there is something enticing about the build-up between them while they are settling into this much anticipated vacation of theirs. 

Sirius must agree with that, because they sit in silence for a good ten minutes, winding down for the evening as they each take in the setting around them. It doesn’t take much for Remus to get lost in his thoughts all over again — as this has been a common phenomenon for him always, but especially of late — and as usual, Sirius allows him to do it in total silence and comfort. 

_I never thought I could be so absolutely in love emotionally, while also knowing you are such a great match intellectually. It feels like we connect in every single important way._

He goes for another drink of wine, finding his glass to be empty this time while his thoughts had been wandering, and that’s enough to snap him out of it for now. He shifts up to reach over the hot tub and grab the bottle of wine he had left on the step below him. Sirius’ glass is low too, and he moves to refill it before taking care of his own and depositing the bottle back down from its resting place.

“I love it here,” Remus offers as he looks around, enjoying the below-freezing temperature on his shoulders while the rest of his body re-submerges in 100 degrees of water. The branches of the old pine trees surrounding the townhouse hang heavy, holding piles of snow. At some point, the build-up will prove too heavy and the snow will drop to the ground. Remus hopes he will be there to see it when it happens. “I think I love it more and more each time you bring me up here.”

“I feel like I’ve converted you to small town ski life,” Sirius puts out. 

“I do like the quiet. It’s like a bubble of positivity,” Remus replies. “And no traffic.” 

“And a ton of bike trails in the summer—“ Sirius adds.

“And skiing for you in the winter,” Remus finishes for him.

Sirius hums a sound that has the feel of a reverie. “Imagine living here. On a slow day at work I could ski for a couple of hours early in the morning or early in the afternoon. Get a season pass. Just make it a normal part of my life.”

Remus feels warm at that thought, and it has nothing to do with the water. “It would be incredible. And I’d actually start to improve.”

“ _You,”_ Sirius starts pointedly, tipping his quarter-full wine glass in Remus’ direction, “are going to improve this week alone.”

Remus fights a smile, but loses the battle. “You’re the best.”

Sirius laughs softly, looking down at the water for a moment before reconnecting his gaze with Remus’. And Jesus Christ, the man is sexy. “Wouldn’t it be odd to live here?” he poses through a laugh.

Remus feels his eyebrows raise as a snort finds its way out of his nose. He’s loosened up, thanks to the wine and the entire environment around him, so he might as well indulge the not-so-serious topic for fun. “Yeah. Imagine it. I would work remotely. It’s only a short drive to the city. I would only go to the office every two or three weeks just to check in.”

Sirius tips his head to the side as he considers this information, laughing at the mere suggestion. “I think you’d go crazy by week two without your routine. You waking up only to go to the living room to start working? No structure?” Sirius lets out a breath of air at that. “You’d become an unshaven mess of a man that I wouldn’t recognize. I’d come home from work and find you having a mental breakdown with a barrel of peanut m&ms. Plus, you love your team and they love you.”

Remus can’t help but laugh as he considers that ever-so-charitable description of him for a moment, and he notices that Sirius leans forward a bit as he does. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly, getting ready to mull over all his thoughts out loud — which is generous for a hypothetical situation that neither of them actually wants to ever happen, but hey, this is what they do. “Luke and Eduardo left the company a while back. Darlina moved to Florida and is working completely remotely. It’s always sad when we lose a member who I enjoy working with, but we adjusted. I honestly think I would just create a new routine…” he determines, and even the thought of that sounds like fun for him. “Morning bike rides. Walks downtown for coffee—”

“Ski lessons with me,” Sirius throws in.

“Yes,” Remus confirms with a tip of his head. “And… well, _you,”_ he articulates — reaching a level of max relaxation and openness at this moment. “Work stopped holding as much importance in my life as soon as you stormed into it.”

Sirius gives him a blink before shifting forward and moving through the water towards him. In another two beats, Remus finds Sirius in front of him. He first leans over the side to set down his empty glass of wine before slowly reaching for Remus’ and doing the same with his. Sirius drops his hands beneath the water to flank Remus’ thighs and leans forward to kiss the corner of his mouth.

Remus’ hands move around to massage up Sirius’ arms as he sinks down in front of Remus, holding eye contact in a way he wouldn’t have been capable of doing two years ago. When he first met Sirius, he had found so much depth in his eyes that looking into them felt like drowning. But not anymore, and something about that realization in this moment takes his whole breath away. 

“But what about you?” Remus asks, ascending as he feels Sirius’ hands roam to the inside of his thighs, inching underneath his trunks. “I think you would be the real mess if we ever relocated to a small town.”

Sirius leans his weight forward a bit into it, really looking at him. “Whatever do you mean, Remus?” He tilts his head to the side, and his face wears a smirk, because he absolutely knows what Remus means. 

Remus laughs, but it’s getting harder to do so now, given Sirius’ hands are again on the move. “Big city prosecutor trades in his high profile murder cases for what? Traffic court?”

Sirius laughs once and raises a hand to push a bit of hair off of Remus’ forehead, before turning Remus’ head with him as he slides in next to him. He leans in then, warm lips moving slowly, languidly, authoritatively, against Remus’. Remus lets the firm press of Sirius’ hand against the back of his head pull him forward, allowing Sirius to lead him through the kiss, and his hand rises to trail up Sirius’ chest; eventually, Sirius maneuvers him with a tug of his hair to gain access to Remus’ neck, leaving a string of kisses up his jaw, before slowly returning their lips together. 

The warm water and the wine create the perfect condition for Remus to just sit back and be guided, and although he desperately wants this to progress to more as quickly as possible, the slow pace Sirius has set is so satisfying on its own that he can’t even be mad. Eventually Sirius pulls back, and Remus’ hand moves down to his hip. And oh right, Sirius forewent swim trumps, and God bless him for that brilliant decision. He still finds it in him to regain some of his composure.

“There are legal issues everywhere. And there are prosecutors in every county.”

Remus snorts at that, his palm kneading harder into Sirius’ skin. “Is there even crime around here?”

Sirius’ eyes flicker to Remus’ mouth and then back. “I think I saw in a news article this week that some guy was arrested for crashing a snow-mobile while intoxicated.”

“You’re kidding,” Remus accuses.

Sirius shakes with a bit of laughter and hums. “I’m not.” 

Remus shakes his head, his thumb circling low around Sirius’ hip bone. “Well there you go,” he says, tipping his head, “A new career path for you.”

“You’re right,” Sirius says simply as he presses their foreheads together. His body shakes with laughter, and Remus can almost see it all playing out in his head right in front of him. Sirius trading in the biggest and nicest courthouse in the state for one that doesn’t even have indoor plumbing (alright, that’s an exaggeration). No, no. The city needs Sirius Black as their White Hat, and Remus would never allow him to leave, for everybody’s sake. “My soul would die inside. Traffic court and a boyfriend having breakdowns because he doesn’t have to be anywhere by a specific time.”

Remus shoots him a pointed look, and it’s a large contrast from what’s going on beneath the water as his hand slides down the crease of Sirius’ hip and onto his thigh, path unobstructed by something silly like clothing. And fuck, Sirius was right all along, he certainly is overdressed. Probative value _indeed._

Sirius gives him a pointed look in return, and it holds even more weight when he presses their foreheads together with a look that bores straight into Remus’ eyes. “I could make it work though, Rem. I would be very happy with you no matter what else I’m doing.”

Remus smiles widely, and it brushes against Sirius’ mouth for how close they are. “I imagine it like one of those awful Hallmark movies my mom loves. The small town lawyer is called to resolve the dispute between two quarreling neighbors. Whose responsibility it is to fix their shared fence after a moose comes by and knocks it down?” 

And what do you know, this whole hypothetical has become even more riveting than their thoroughly imagined mission to mars that one time a year ago, the one where the two of them would be responsible for developing and ushering in the legal system for the new frontier. It did lead to a bit of an intense argument when they got to the issue of how many days after a complaint is filed should process be served — Sirius defaulting to an astoundingly abrupt 60 days, while Remus stood strong at 90 — but they’d worked it out in the end after some rather fiery words thrown back and forth.

And the makeup sex had been phenomenal that night.

Sirius gives one of his own, “The nosy out-of-towner who isn’t equipped to drive in snow accidentally runs into a lamppost, which then knocks down the beautiful garland strung at the top of it, causing complete chaos on the road for a day.”

Remus tries to top it. “A big hotel chain tries to buy out the town, cancel Christmas, and turn it into some massive headquarters for another evil corporation.”

That one earns a snort from Sirius, but the massage of Remus’ hand under the water brings out a sigh right after. “Yeah. I think I love where we are now — in terms of our lives and where we live. I’m pretty fucking happy.”

This is profound to Remus, who realizes how obvious and true the words are. And mutual. Maybe there really is something to being in their mid-thirties, having already achieved a good amount of career success and finding a type of love that neither of them ever truly believed existed for themselves. Life felt so much calmer now. Like everything they ever wanted was in their grasps, like everything that was meant to be fit so perfectly together. 

_You lift me up in the areas of life where I need it most, you quell all of my greatest fears and insecurities, and I strive as hard as I can to do the same for you._

By now, Sirius is remedying the whole problematic situation otherwise known as Remus’ swim trunks, with both hands moving beneath the water and untying the waistband enough for his fingers to grip underneath. Remus leans back and lifts up his hips, deciding that any protest against it was a complete waste of energy for more reasons than one, as Sirius pulls them off of him and drops them over the ledge of the hot tub and onto the deck. 

It really is pretty dark outside, he assures himself, and it’s not like anybody can see beneath the water. 

Remus finds that none of that actually matters as soon as Sirius maneuvers himself on top of him now, straddling Remus’ hips and pressing into him as tightly as possible. They fit perfectly against each other, as they always have, and Remus doesn’t bother to suppress the groan that comes out of his mouth at the contact, his hands gripping down Sirius’ back and pulling him impossibly closer.

“I told you this was better,” Sirius mutters into his ear.

Remus huffs out a laugh. “The crystal brain strikes again.”

Sirius pulls back a bit, sitting more upright again, and Remus is rewarded with a beaming smile for that little quip. Remus smiles back, and then, because his name is in fact Remus J. Lupin and he really can’t help it, he adds in, “We just can’t get too carried away.”

Sirius’ body moves with one small shake of laughter. And after that a hand moves beneath the water and between the two of them, making Remus very aware of its presence a moment later. “Unless you were planning on bending me over this hot tub and rimming me within an inch of my life,” he pauses for effect, “I think we will be fine.”

Remus coughs for that comment, and he’s pretty certain that his face heats up to a temperature even hotter than the water they are currently sitting in. He isn’t sure why, not after two years of partaking in that sort of activity. Something about hearing the words easily slip out of his boyfriend’s beautiful mouth, perhaps. 

And that reminds him.

He dips his mouth into the crook of Sirius’ neck — the smell of chlorine and pine and Sirius adding to the smile on his face — as his hands grip on either side of Sirius’ hips for a second before moving up and then down his ass with the highest level of appreciation.

“You know…” Remus starts, his voice slightly muffled but not too much that Sirius won’t understand, “since it is our anniversary, I do have something planned.”

Sirius hums in vague interest, more concerned in what is occurring underneath the water no doubt. And it would be a struggle for Remus — it _really_ would be considering the twist of Sirius’ hand and the fact that Remus can only name one time he has ever really turned Sirius down — except, in this case, he knows that remaining focused on the topic at hand will be well worth it. 

His voice hitches nevertheless. “Sirius,” he rasps out, because he’s only human. And then again, stronger this time, “Sirius, I brought _the_ costume.”

The waters still. 

Sirius freezes in place. 

Something like a whimper can be heard, pulled from the depths of Sirius’ throat no doubt. And suddenly he is _glowing._

And then, ”Th-th-the...” His body is shaking with laughter. “Yeah?”

Remus nips at him right below the ear, allowing himself to soak in the full amount of control he now holds. How the turntables. “Oh yeah,” he affirms with an exaggerated nod, and Sirius continues to shake as Remus’ hands rake appreciatively up his back. 

“The tunic?” Sirius levels with him.

“The maroon one. With the sleeves.”

Sirius pulls back, the look of hysterics in his eyes not clouded at all by the amount of lust taking up residence there at the same time. They are hopeful, searching, waiting for Remus to reveal the last bit of information that will most certainly bring this faux-fantasy-turned-kind-of-real over the edge.

“And...” Remus starts, met with a hitch of breath from his beautiful counterpart. It’s Remus’ turn for _his_ hand to move beneath the water now, between them, slowly, and he gives that a bit of attention before dropping the best bomb of the evening. “I’ve got a full Shakespearean monologue prepared this time.”

A groan comes out of Sirius’ mouth at a volume loud enough to wake the neighbors. And it’s Remus’ hope that they mistake it for a moose or an elk or anything other than a man straddling his lover in a hot tub while talking about _Richard III_ , but in all honesty, he isn’t really thinking about it too much. Not anymore, and that’s a marvel in itself.

“Remus,” is all that Sirius can manage to breathe out — through laughter or arousal, Remus isn’t quite sure at this point — and that in itself is everything. 

And sure, if he really took the time to think about it, it might puzzle Remus how an instance of him reading aloud to Sirius one night had turned into their most satisfying sex game. But the humor and ease it brought to their sex life, the absolute _realness_ of being so in love with someone that he could be his authentic self and have it appreciated… well, that was just another example of something wonderful he never knew existed until he found it.

But then again it really had been the natural progression of their relationship given Remus’ historic _Call me Ishmael_ moment that had catapulted their relationship. Remus couldn’t say he was _completely_ surprised it had spiraled into this; and if reciting monologues out loud to a highly amused Sirius is what it took for him to appreciate literature again, well then, Remus really wasn’t going to give it any more thought.

“Tomorrow,” Remus promises, focusing his mouth on the divot of Sirius’ collarbone, feeling like a hunter who has locked in on his target now, warm lips against cold skin and trailing up his neck. “After a good day of skiing tomorrow.” He pulls Sirius closer with one jerk of his free arm, and Sirius presses against him fervently, waiting for whatever Remus deems to come next. And, well, Remus can’t resist. He cannot resist at least a teaser. Sirius certainly deserves it. 

“Now is the winter of our discontent,” he starts, keeping his voice low and strong, though quiet. His cadence is firm, as he has prepared it to be, and his enunciation clear. “Made glorious by this son of York…”

Sirius groans deeply, a gravelly sound coming out muffled against Remus’ neck, thank god, his breathing becoming belabored and having the same effect it always seemed to, coaxing Remus to continue on to the next line, “And all the clouds that lour’d upon our house, In the deep bosom of the ocean buried— ”

And it’s not a second later that Remus’ monologue, in all of its romantic glory, is cut short when Sirius’ eager mouth covers his own, his purposeful hands pressing Remus’ shoulders to let him know that while Remus may possess the magical tongue tonight, Sirius really is the one in charge.


	2. Day 2, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two ballads for this chapter to keep in mind:  
> 1\. [A New Day Has Come](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NaGLVS5b_ZY)  
> 2\. [Hemorrhage (In My Hands)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZbHfgXJKn1Y)

The 90s style montage was only just beginning when viewed in the grander scheme of things. Memories of the last two years would be nothing but a drop in the bucket compared to the memories they had yet to make. The proposal. The wedding. The honeymoon. Purchasing their first house together. The memories would stack, one on top of another, until there would be too many for one song to handle. The Cure would transition to Modern English. A puppy would come next, which would be great fun and even better practice. Because then, after that, maybe even...

An early alarm at 7am pulls Remus out of sleep, but it’s a welcome wakeup given the adventures that the day is sure to bring. The slopes do not officially open until 8:30am, but he and Sirius want a relaxed morning before catching the shuttle over to the gondola. They have their special routine in the mountains, after all. Shower. Coffee and talking. Breakfast. Ski.

And as soon as Remus opens his eyes, he knows that it is the _perfect_ day. Although the weather is cold outside, the sun is shining brightly, offering the best that Spring skiing has to offer. And from that moment on, the day actually is off to an almost unfathomably idyllic start. A local bold roast coffee they bought at the grocery store the day before is even better than he had hoped for, and the veggie omelet that Sirius puts in front of him 45 minutes before they need to leave the house is truly divine. 

Maybe he _will_ graduate to that blue-black run today. 

And maybe, just like his love for Sirius, mastering the run would be effortless.

And then, true to the day’s sure-to-be exceptional form, he would ask Sirius to marry him. 

Shortly after breakfast, they return upstairs to the bedroom to change into their ski gear, opting for their lighter clothing — for Remus, that is a pair of rust-colored pants and a lightweight gray shell jacket — since the weather is so ideal. No storms or wind to prepare for on the slopes today, only sunscreen needed. 

“Those ski boots still giving you problems?” Sirius asks as they sit in the garage pulling those god-forsaken contraptions on. And honestly, the task might actually be the most difficult part of skiing overall, in Remus’ opinion, which is really saying something.

“Always,” Remus grumbles as he pulls the tongue out of his right boot and begins to maneuver his foot in. It’s a real struggle. After about ten dedicated seconds of trying, he resigns himself to the inevitable. “Will you help me?” 

“I really thought when we bought you your own pair that you wouldn’t have this problem anymore,” Sirius remarks as he walks over and grabs the boot from Remus, kneels, and holds it down on the ground firmly as he motions for Remus to stand up and try again. 

“It’s alright,” Remus sighs. “We always get it eventually.”

The next few minutes prove that to be true. With Sirius’ help, Remus is able to jam his foot into the stiff ski boot on the next try, and then his left foot has even a little less trouble than that. There is a bit of pain during the process, but that’s just part of the game. “I just wish it didn’t hurt so much when I walk around,” he mutters with a wince after moving to grab his skis from where they hang along the wall. “Damn my skinny ankles.”

Don’t get him wrong, he’s still in good spirits. This uncomfortable part was expected and it certainly isn’t going to put him out any on this perfect of days. In fact, he is _already_ getting used to the splintering pain overtaking his ankles with every step, and he doesn’t even need to walk _that_ funny to make it better. He’s fine, he’s competent, he can fucking do this.

“Let’s stop by one of the shops and get them looked at before we catch the gondola up,” Sirius suggests, watching Remus‘ stiff gait with a concerned expression.

“This morning?” he clarifies, pushing his arms out as he pounds his heel onto the ground to make some more room in there.

“Yeah,” Sirius says, “We never actually got them fitted to you. They can heat your boots up and mold them around your ankles, give you more support. That’s why mine are so comfortable.”

“Oh,” he remarks, utterly intrigued. This is great news. Of course there is a solution, he never should have worried at all. “Let’s do it after we finish skiing for the day.”

“You sure?”

Remus nods and gives his heels another good stomp for good measure. “I’m sure. They’re annoying right now, but once I get into my skis I barely even notice. I really don’t want to waste this beautiful morning,” he decides, because really, there is nothing like a good morning of skiing in the crisp mountain air as the sun rises above them. Additionally, the earlier they get out there the less likely the slopes will be busy. “Plus, it’s not like I’m gonna need to _run_ in these things, you know!” he adds with full laughter now.

Sirius agrees happily, because what a truly ridiculous idea that is, and ‘smooth’ must be the word of the day, because after getting fully geared up, he and Sirius step outside the garage to see the shuttle coming from the left. After only a minor scramble to grab their respective skis and poles, they step into the vehicle and the timing could not have worked out better. 

“Good morning!” the shuttle driver belts out as soon as they make their way to a set of seats next to each other, close behind the driver. Sirius chimes out a _good morning_ of his own as Remus takes in the rest of the vehicle, and the driver lifts up his red cap to reveal a balding head of bright red hair.

It’s delightfully near-empty, only one other couple seated in the middle — a man and a woman probably in their mid-forties — and then a lone man in the back fiddling with his phone. And as if the morning wasn’t easy enough, this is really a great indication that the base won’t be too crowded. Score for Team Blupin. And Toto is now playing on the radio — a total ski town tune, he thinks — so he sighs in joy, taking Sirius’ hand in his own just because he can, and then tunes into the conversation that Sirius has inevitably struck up with the driver.

“— just a five hour drive away, so this isn’t our first time here, and it definitely won’t be our last. But it _is_ going to be the longest trip we’ve had yet. So I hope the mountain is ready for us!” he tacks on, unnecessarily, in Remus’ opinion, but apparently not according to the driver, who lets out a passionate ‘yee-haw’ at that.

“Well you came at the perfect time!” Driverman, Remus thinks he introduced himself as Bruce earlier, chimes, looking up in the rearview mirror at them. “Huge crowd of people left yesterday it seems. Y’all just might have the mountain to yourselves,” he jokes jovially, and it pairs well with his ruddy complexion. Total Santa vibes. Remus wonders if he is always this enthusiastic, and honestly why wouldn’t he be, living in this winter paradise and all. 

“Yeah, that’s good to hear,” Sirius leans forward as he engages with Bruce, never one to miss out on a conversation, or charming any and everyone when the opportunity is presented. “We are celebrating our two year anniversary,” he throws out without an ounce of hesitation — something that has always made Remus a bit uncomfortable, but in a way that he loves, a way that he knows is good for him. “Looks like it’s going to be a great day.”

Remus bites his lip as a smile grows on his face. 

“Oh that’s so sweet!” the woman behind them throws out as the driver agrees with the sentiment, chiming in that it should be one of the best ski days of the spring season. “Do you have a restaurant picked out for dinner?” she asks before quickly adding, “George and I here have some great recommendations if you need them.”

Sirius turns around, resting an arm on the back of the chair as he smiles at the couple. “We do have reservations for Chez Nous tonight.”

“Oh,” she says with gravity, and she’s clearly impressed. “You planned ahead, then...” And you bet your ass Remus did, Mrs. George, he’s been dying to try Chez Nous since he first researched this area 18 months ago. “George and I have only been able to get reservations twice and it was phenomenal. Fantastic wine list.”

“That’s what Remus says,” Sirius chimes eagerly as he gestures to Remus. “He’s been talking about it nonstop since he booked the reservation a month ago. We usually come up here with some friends of ours, and it isn’t exactly the place to bring toddlers. But this trip is finally the perfect occasion to try it.”

“Two years,” the woman says wistfully as she looks at her husband, because apparently the couple that skis together, stays together. “It sure goes by fast. How did you two meet?”

“What a wonderful question,” Sirius turns another gigawatt brighter. “This one,” he points a thumb over at Remus, who at this point is casually turned enough to watch everything that is going on around him, “had jury duty at the courthouse I frequently have to be at.”

“Oh how romantic,” she muses.

Apparently he’s remembering a different version of the events, because Sirius nods in confirmation. “It was utterly romantic,” he affirms with feeling. “We bumped into each other a couple of times around the courthouse, and by the end of it all he came and accosted me in the elevator. Lips and all. My files ended up _everywhere_.” Remus blinks twice in quick succession. “And well, the rest is history.”

“Oh my goodness!” Mrs. George exclaims with glee, and by now it’s clear that Remus and George would be two peas in a pod by how the dynamics between their partners are playing out. “It must have been the talk of the courthouse for weeks.”

“Unfortunately not,” Sirius lets her down gently. But this was great news for Remus, who perks up at the new piece of information. “I have a bit of a reputation to maintain there—“

“— oh of course—“

“—so thankfully word did not get out that I have a habit of picking up guys from jury duty.” Come again? A habit? What— “We kept it pretty quiet for a while.” 

“Sounds a bit like George and I here…” the woman starts, right before Remus hears the radio shift from Toto to a verifiably underrated Celine Dion song. 

_Through the darkness and good times_ _  
__I knew I’d make it through._

And there’s some powerful but unnamed phenomenon, where a song perfectly coincides with a setting or feeling specific to that moment in time, that Remus appreciates deeply. The shuttle bus has pulled out of the residential townhome area and taken a right toward the drop off point for the gondola, just as Mrs. George launches into her love story featuring a steamy office romance, starring her and George. But that’s all background noise to Remus as his gaze drifts out the window, letting Celine serenade him as the sparkling mountain finally comes into full, glorious view.

 _And the world thought I had it all_ _  
__But I was waiting for you._

There also did not exist a word for how gorgeous the scene was. Clear blue skies offering an unencumbered view of pristine white ski slopes — so white they were almost too bright to look at — and the anticipation of driving up towards something nearly too good to be true, with a man who is almost certainly too good to be true, makes him feel like he is a teenager all over again. 

_Hush now_ _  
__I see a light in the sky_ _  
__Oh it’s almost blinding me_

Remus has one brief moment of panic before he brings his left hand to his jacket pocket, breathing an internal sigh of relief as he feels the small box that he did _not_ forget to put in there today. Because today was the day, undoubtedly. The mountain was calling to him, and somewhere on it today, at the perfect moment, he was going to propose to the love of his life. The ultimate declaration.

 _I can’t believe I’ve been touched by an angel_ _  
__With lo—_

“ _Remus,”_ Sirius’ voice breaks through with a bit of exasperation. Oh shit, he must have been trying to get Remus’ attention for a little while now.

Remus turns quickly, averting his gaze from the window and back to Sirius. “Sorry.”

“Yeah you were doing it again,” Sirius supplies with a lopsided grin. “That thing you do when you are enjoying a song. Gone to the rest of the world. I just didn’t know that Celine had this impact on you.”

Remus blinks, looks around long enough to register that Sirius’ conversation with the rest of the vehicle is finished, and asks, “What were you going to ask me?”

Sirius gives a quiet laugh and a shake of his head as the shuttle pulls up to the drop-off area outside Ski Town Square. “Nothing,” he says with a smile. “Let’s get moving.”

And they do just that. It doesn’t take more than a minute of walking through the Square for Remus to experience that particularly charmed feeling that comes along with settling into small town life. Besides the ache in his feet from the medieval torture devices strapped around his feet — really, how the hell is everyone else around not wearing the same wince permanently plastered on Remus’ face — it really is quite dreamy. 

It’s not a long walk to the gondola line, but it is long enough for Remus to really soak in the environment. The woman walking in an 80s inspired neon onesie while carrying a snowboard over her shoulder, the older couple that looks like they popped straight out of a Lands’ End winter catalogue, Tom Petty playing through the loud-speakers, the crispness of the air that one can only really find at this altitude; the indescribable feeling that time _really_ does slow down in this little bubble of heaven.

Yeah. This was happening.

“You know what,” the woman working at the end of the gondola line tells them as they wait to be assigned to one of the next three coming down the line, “there are so few crowds today. Why don’t the two of you just take one for yourselves?”

It fits, Remus thinks. That he and Sirius should meet in such a hellish environment. Now the universe was extending an olive branch, as if to say, ‘the way you met the love of your life was _truly_ a disaster. But it’s all going to be worth it when I give you a day straight from a romance novel to propose; here is your gondola for two.’

Once he gets to the top of the mountain, he will clip into his skis and his vulnerable ankles will be assaulted no longer. Just one gloriously romantic gondola ride longer now. 

The trip up is glorious, ascending higher and higher as the entire valley comes into view beneath them. Sirius is sprawled out on the bench across from Remus, going on about the joys of ski goggles with interchangeable magnetic lenses — _for whatever weather we’re faced with Remus. Sunny, cloudy, snowstorm, we’ll always be prepared_ — with that special sort of passion that Remus could watch all day long, no matter what the topic of conversation. But as an added bonus, this particular topic is right up Remus’ wheelhouse, and Sirius knows it. 

Remus is utterly in love.

“All good?” Sirius asks a couple of minutes later when they have exited the gondola and made their way onto the snow.

“Uh huh,” Remus answers as he looks around. With the sun shining above, it is pearlescent white as far as his eye can see. The runs to his left slope steeply down the mountain — the quickest way back down to the bottom — and the pathway to his right is the one he knows that he and Sirius will be taking to the backside. Sirius was right the night before, it certainly is his favorite area to ski at the resort, and where he is most comfortable. He takes another deep breath and smiles at Sirius. “Let’s go.”

With a smile in return and a good-hearted whack with his ski pole to Remus’ ass, Sirius leads the way to the right and Remus follows a beat later. 

The morning passes just like that. Utterly pleasant. Scenic. Full of laughter and delight from both parties. There’s a comfort that Remus takes in frequenting the same ski resort, more so than trying out new ones in the area; he knows what is coming with the runs he is familiar with, and at least Sirius can prepare him for what to expect on the ones he is not. They spend the first couple of hours on Remus’ favorites, and with some minor instructions from Sirius, Remus is settling in nicely, building just the right level of confidence to where, yeah, he’s got these blue runs down. 

His shoulders are remaining square as he uses his hips to really dig his skis into the snow. And his speed is increasing with every run — an easy indication of his improvement. And just like Sirius had said, maybe it’s time to conquer something more now. 

Sirius speeds past him on his right, going full speed at the bottom of High Noon before it levels out and leads to the Rendezvous Lodge. He stops easily in front of the ski racks, and really it’s the opportunity for shenanigans that Remus has been waiting for.

And he pulls it off incredibly so, with Sirius focusing more on unclipping from his skis as Remus’ approaches. But his inattention only lasts a couple seconds longer as soon as Remus throws his skis into an abrupt cut right next to Sirius. Or, rather, to be more accurate, as soon as a wall of snow flies from Remus’ skis in a white tidal wave that covers him from helmet to boots. 

“Sirius Black,” he remarks with a smirk, Sirius’ black pants successfully painted with billions of snowflakes. “More like Sirius _White.”_

“Oh my god,” Sirius resigns himself, and it’s difficult to say whether he sounds impressed in the midst of his defeat. “I’ve created a monster.”

“Mmm, I’m sure it’s horrible for you,” Remus sympathizes. And then, just because he can, just because he know the memory brings Sirius to complete exasperation of the regretful sort and Remus is in that particular endorphins-induced mood to be a bit provocative, “I’m sure it’s just as horrible as that time that James attempted to spray you but nailed that little kid instead.” Silence. “And then his mom scolded you both for it.” 

“Remus,” Sirius whispers for the horrible memory. The type of memory that all parties involved typically reach an unspoken understanding about never to mention again. But honestly Remus is on Cloud Nine, and in the moment it is funny as shit. 

“I’ve never seen you so startled,” Remus doubles down.

Still a whisper. “Don’t.”

His smile widens. “I’ve never seen you act like that,” Remus says, sidling you closer. “I know you’ve had to walk into court completely unprepared when someone else dropped the ball, and you have all the conviction in the world. But that…”

“I was mortified.”

Remus clips out of his own skis, and before reaching down to grab them, plants a firm kiss on Sirius’ lips — noting that it is the only warm part of his face — and then rests his skis on the stand before making his way into the lodge. 

And if Sirius was actually mortified by the memory of the fury of an aggrieved mother, it dissipates as soon as they have coffees in hand and a large room full of other skiers to talk to. If Remus were asked to choose the thing he loved most about Sirius, well, it would be impossible for there were far too many. One of the things that would pop directly into his mind, however, would be his ability to make friends any and everywhere he goes. 

It just so happens that the rest of the morning flies right on by — almost, dare Remus say, as fast as his improved skiing speed. Almost, dare he say _again,_ as fluidly as his parallel skiing down the challenging blue-black he has officially under his belt. Almost, he dareth the most to say, as perfectly as the day they met had been abominable.

And he knows that the time is right.

After a thirty minute rest and coffee at the lodge, they are off to blue-black that Sirius promised. Remus is confident in more than just newfound skiing abilities. 

It’s all been leading up to this very moment. 

And there will be no better way to celebrate than conquering a new level of skiing with his _fiance_.

_Sirius Black. Every single day I have spent with you has been an adventure. Before I met you, I thought I knew what happiness meant, I thought my life was fulfilling enough._

As though the day is set up for his success, the green trail they are taking to One O’Clock veers right, treating the both of them with a gorgeous view of the snow-covered valley below them. Remus has been here before, and it’s one of the most picturesque spots on the mountain. Perfect for a family photo. A solo epiphanic moment. A declaration of love. 

Remus speeds ahead of Sirius and comes to a quick stop just off the ski path, signaling for Sirius to follow. And he does.

Remus isn’t sure because of the goggles, but he thinks that Sirius is squinting at him. “Babe, One O’Clock is just up ahead there,” he says, using his hand to direct Remus’ attention further down the run. 

Remus uses a pole to start unclipping out of his skis. “I know.” He smiles at Sirius as he steps out of them. “Just come with me for a minute.” 

“Alright,” Sirius agrees. As he works his way out of his own skis, Remus lifts his goggles up to rest on his helmet. It’s super bright and his eyes need a moment to adjust, but he wants the clearest view for this. “You want a picture or something?”

“Not really,” Remus replies as his hand moves down to the outside of his right pocket. Confirmed. The ring did not magically disappear. But of course it didn’t. Today is the perfect day. A day literally made for Remus. His whole life. Built up. For this moment in time. “Just want to take in the view for a couple of minutes.”

And the view is stunning, Remus thinks as he walks stiffly towards the cliff. Not even ill-fitting boots can put a damper on this scene, and he barely notices the sharp gnawing feeling in his ankles as he walks. Blue skies contrasted with a blanket of white trees below, a pop of green every so often where the snow had fallen off, and the whole scene seems to be bedazzled with white glitter. Bare aspens surround them, contributing to the sea of white that is almost blinding under the bright sun. The type of cold crispness in the air adds something special too. Both a feeling of isolation and of oneness with nature, with humanity, simultaneously. There is a silence. Like they are the only two people on the mountain. The only two people on earth.

Remus turns back to see Sirius approaching, trudging through the unpacked snow far too gracefully. A figure in black outlined magnificently by the whiteout around him. His own goggles are still on his face, but that’s fine. It is bright after all. Remus reaches out for his hand as he gets closer, and Sirius grabs it with a smile before taking his place next to Remus in front of the overlook. 

“It’s so beautiful here,” Remus offers up, appreciating seeing the fog of breath come out of his mouth as he speaks. 

Sirius leans closer to him, and if they weren’t still wearing their helmets, Remus is sure that Sirius would rest his head in the crook of Remus’ neck. But hell, the sentiment is still the same. “One of the prettiest places on the whole mountain, and it’s so clear today.”

Remus hums in agreement before giving Sirius’ right hand a bit of a yank to pull his attention away from the view and over to Remus. It works, with Sirius averting his gaze from the valley views below and facing his goggle-ladened beautiful face towards Remus. Lips slightly more red in the cold, a bit chapped, and Remus wants to kiss them. 

So he does. And he finds Sirius’ mouth somehow warm despite the 20 degree temperature. “I love you,” Remus manages to declare while smiling against Sirius’ lips. “I love you.”

This is what life is about. This is what he was made for, to feel this all-encompassing amount of love for another human being — the highest level of existence. And somehow, he made it here, with the world’s sexiest man by his side. Who would’ve ever guessed it. 

“This is so great!” Sirius laughs carelessly, not yet feeling the gravity of the situation, of the significance of what’s about to happen between them. But he will soon. “I love you so much too, Rem! Are you sure you don’t want a picture here?”

“Not yet.” He takes a deep breath before clearing his throat. “Sirius Black…” he starts — it is really happening (!!!!) — reaching around for Sirius’ left hand and successfully encouraging Sirius to face him dead on. His goggles are a little fogged, and Remus holds back a comment about maybe applying another layer of sunscreen to the half of his face that is exposed. Because Remus can envision this perfect portrait from outside of his body. Two men, standing face to face, holding hands on a peak with a pristine valley below. Two years of love surging between them, highlighted by the golden sun smiling from above, warming the two of them in the freezing weather. 

“Yes, Remus Lupin?” Sirius laughs out adorably. His thumb is rubbing circles on Remus’ gloved hand.

Another deep breath. “Every single day I have spent with you has been an adventure.” He isn’t nervous. There’s actually a peaceful feeling burgeoning inside of him. A deep peace. Perhaps _the_ deepest peace he has ever known. It’s possible. “Before I met you, I thought I knew what happiness meant. I thought my life was fulfilling enough.” Because this is exactly how it is meant to feel. “But you went and blew all of those notions out of the water the day you entered my life.”

Sirius’ thumb goes still. “What are you doing?” he demands. The part of his face that Remus can see is serious now. 

But Remus is undeterred. “I never thought I was cut out for this kind of love… the kind of love that is all-consuming and uplifting and literally puts a smile on my face every single morning I wake up knowing that you exist.” He pauses to take off his right glove, dipping it into his pocket while he continues talking. “I never thought I could be so absolutely in love—“

Sirius drops his hands. “No!” He practically yells at him, the outburst cutting Remus off completely and making him lose his train of thought.

“What?” he scrambles with uncertainty. 

“Absolutely not!” he repeats, louder this time, as he turns away from Remus, breaking out into a full on run back towards the ski path. 

_What the fuck is happening._ “Sirius!” Remus yells back at him, confusion turning to anger — and becoming very apparent from his tone of voice — as Sirius sprints through the snow, taking a quicker route back to his skis and literally running through powder that is up to his knees. “What are you doing?!”

“No Remus! I have plans!” Sirius shouts back without even turning around, tripping in the snow a moment later and actually face-planting in four feet of unmarked trail. 

“What are you talking about? I’m trying to pro—“

“Stop it!” Sirius’ yells, a bit muffled now as he clamors his way through the powder and manages to get back up to standing position. And the fucker begins running faster now, a figure in black covered almost completely in white. “Stop talking! I have _my own plans, Remus._ And you’re ruining everything!”

You’re. Ruining. Everything.

Huh. 

He’s at his skis now. He’s actually clipping himself back into his skis. Remus is just staring on; running to catch him is out of the question. He can barely walk in these fucking contraptions meant to pass off as ‘boots’. It’s all compounding, as he stands there in front of his audience of trees, his perfect scene eclipsed by whatever stunt his fucking boyfriend is currently taking part in. 

“I’m ruining everything?!” Remus shouts as loudly as he can. He’s fucking pissed now. And Sirius actually looks like he is getting ready to ski away from him. “SIRIUS GET THE FUCK BACK HERE. YOU’RE THE ONE RUINING EVERYTHING.” Sirius pushes with his poles and begins descending down the track. “SIRIUS YOU FUCKING—“

And Remus stops himself. Because he’s skied down the slope, turned the corner, and is heading down the black diamond run next to One O’Clock. The run he knows without a doubt Remus will not follow him on.

“GODDAMMIT SIRIUS,” he yells into the air, turning back to look down into the valley as if his words will echo within its amphitheater and his sentiment will be heard by the universe five times instead of just once. “FUCK.” Pause. _“FUUUUCK.”_

It’s a trudge back to his skis, and feels significantly different from the trip to the overlook that felt light and optimistic and painless. Everything has changed now. His ankles are screaming at him to end it all now, the snow is too deep to walk in, and suddenly it is fucking _cold._

Thankfully it takes less than a minute of fighting, and he is back to his skis. He’s trying to fit his boot back into the bindings as a family of four laughs while cruising down the run next to him. It is a struggle, now that snow has been packed into the bottom of his boot. And it is somehow more of a struggle, when set to the carefree joy of this perfect family outfitted in matching blue and purple jackets. Wow, it would have been nice to have everything go perfectly for once. 

“FUCK,” he bites out once more when the children are out of earshot and his boot slips out of the binding for the third time in a row. He enunciates the word with a passionate and poorly thought-out throw of the pole he had been using for support, forcefully chucking it down into an area of unmarked snow about thirty feet away. An area of snow that must be at least 12 feet high. 

And at this point, with everything spiraling the way it has, there is no way he is going to retrieve that pole, and some disaster would inevitably occur if he tried. Was it worth it to throw it in anger? Maybe. He’d evaluate that later. But Remus knows when he is a beaten man, and he’s not one to test the fates when shit has already started to pile on top of him. 

Plus the day is ruined anyway. He’s done skiing. In a profoundly stupid turn of events, he’s been abandoned on the mountain in the middle of his marriage proposal by the man who he is supposed to trust more than anyone. The entire trip is fucked. So if he has to ski back down a green run with one pole to make it back to the lodge, he can fucking handle it. 

He falls down on his penultimate attempt to get back into his skis, but eventually clips in successfully and keeps on the green trail, passing the black diamond Sirius took to _flee_ from him before passing One O’Clock that was supposed to proceed the most romantic proposal of all time. That he was supposed to conquer with Sirius while having the use of two poles instead of one.

But fuck that, Remus thinks in a mixture of confusion, sadness, and anger. So much for thinking that Remus would plan out the perfect event and it would actually happen. The emotions build inside of him, and Remus struggles with whether to direct them on himself or on the man needed to get away from him so fast, before he could say anything more about the depth of his love, that he faceplanted in the snow. Unreal. He continues on the green, leaving the trail behind him along with the rest of his plans.

He reaches a fork in the green trail. The left takes him back to the gondola that he can ride down to the base. He’s been down the trail before. It’s easy and reliable and probably exactly the path Sirius expected him to take when he _abandoned_ Remus at the overlook. He probably expected Remus to head back that route, maybe even to meet him at the bottom. 

Well fuck that, Remus thinks, taking the trail to the right. It’s still a green and he’s not sure where it leads, but Sirius can fuck right the hell off for now, Remus certainly doesn’t want to see him, and hopefully it bothers him that Remus doesn’t turn up exactly where he expects for the first time ever. 

And it’s a nice trail, not heavily traveled but very nicely groomed. There are picturesque views of the valley below as it winds around the mountain and after about three minutes of flying down with the wind on his face, Remus is starting to calm down a bit. To breath normally, for his pulse to settle back down to a level that could be considered normal. The trail begins to level out, and Remus’ speed slows down somewhat dramatically. He’s going to at least enjoy the scenery around him, dammit. 

Then his heart nearly stops when a snowboarder flies out from the double black diamond run perpendicular to the green trail Remus is on and crosses just inches in front of him as his phone blares _Hemorrhage (In the Hands)_ by Fuel. He usually doesn’t love it when people blare their music for all to hear against their will, but this one feels relevant. So relevant.

“ _Shit_ ,” he whispers in shock as he uses his one pole to pull himself along the now-completely-flat pathway he is on. He hopes the slope picks back up soon because he is finding it quite exhausting to ski on flat terrain. He grabs onto the pole with both hands and stabs it aggressively into the snow between his skis and pulls his body forward. It is flat for as far as he can see. He checks his phone. 10:54.

_Leave love bleeding in my hands, in my hands again._

Stab. And pull. 

_And I want you._

Stab. And pull. 

_But you turned away._

Two small children come skiing towards him, going the opposite way along the trail. What the fuck. 

_Don’t fall away_ _  
__And leave me to myself_

More time passes. An unknown amount of time, but if Remus had to guess, it would probably be about four thousand stabs from his single ski pull. 

A couple in snowshoes passes him on his left. 

At 12:15 he is convinced this trail is never going to end. And why should it. This is his punishment for ever thinking anything would ever go smoothly for Remus John Lupin. His arms hurt. And he’s beginning to sweat. 

He knows how this ends. The neverending flat trail to nowhere as sweat accumulates around his entire body. The sun will set. The warmth of the sun will disappear. And he will freeze to death, alone, singing Fuel to himself. Miserable. Pissed the fuck off. 

A fitting ending, really. Super poetic. 

“Howdy, there,” a voice breaks him out of his harrowing thoughts. 

Remus turns to see a man on a snowmobile and eyes him with skepticism. He is older and wearing a red Ski Patrol jacket. And will you look at that, he even has a peg leg. Wonderful, Remus has an audience now. 

“Hi,” he answers begrudgingly as he stabs his pole in for oh, his ten thousandeth pull of his 180 pound body. 

“This is a utility trail, you know?”

“Oh I figured that out about 45 minutes ago,” he says as he shoots Mr. Snow Patrol an overexaggerated smile. But he had been committed at that point. Like a fool, he had thought the trail would eventually end. 

“Ah, well do you want a ride back to a real trail?”

“No,” Remus answers resolutely without thinking. Yet, not reading Remus’ thoughts, the guy does not speed away. So Remus continues pulling himself forward, as if it will actually get him out of the other man’s sight even though he is fully aware that he is doomed to fail on this excursion. 

Four pulls forward and the snowmobile moves up three inches stay level with him. 

“You’ve still got a good mile before you meet the other trails.”

Remus stops, taking a moment to squint up into the sky and wonder ‘why me’. His shoulders slump and he really truly gives up. “Yes, alright,” he resigns himself. And through those words he meets a feeling of absolute defeat, not just for the moment, but for the whole fucking anniversary trip as a whole. 

The man scoots his peg leg up a couple inches before his body follows right along, making room for Remus on the seat. “Just keep your skis on to straddle the sides. I’ll go slow,” he instructs. 

And Remus doesn’t care about anything at this point. He is merely a shell of a human now — numb to embarrassment and shame after the ultimate rejection he already experienced today — as he sits behind the man with the peg leg, moving to wrap his arms around his chest. At this point, he just wants the fuck off of this horrible mountain, and he’d do a lot more than wrap his arms around the man to get there. 

But thankfully the Angel With the Peg Leg requires nothing for his good deeds, and soon they are off at a speed about a million times faster than the work of a single pole. And Remus is so overwhelmed with relief by it, by seeing just how much distance he doesn’t have to pole through, that he cannot even comprehend whatever stories the Peg Angel is mumbling about while driving. 

“This a good place to drop you?” he asks Remus as they come to a stop a mile away from pickup.

“Sure,” Remus sighs, looking around to gain his bearings. He doesn’t quite know where he is — an unexplored part of the resort from his perspective — but there is a green run and he’s sure it’ll get him off this godforsaken mountain at some point. 

“Follow this trail to get back to the base. It’s not too much further down from here,” Angel confirms.

And this is shocking news for Remus, who comprehends just how far he must have pulled himself to make it entirely from the backside of the mountain to the front. And what an absolutely horrible thing to go through, he thinks as that resentment he had been distracted from for a good hour and a half again begins to reemerge with a vengeance.

“Thank you,” Remus manages to communicate, because as absolutely livid as he is at one particular man, he owes a lot of gratitude to another who just helped him out big time, even after being rebuffed at his initial offer. 

“You’re welcome, Remus,” he hears his savior say as he situates himself in the direction of the trail and adjusts his goggles. 

“I really appreciate—”, he starts before he is hit with a deep sense of eeriness, one that motivates him to turn his neck and ask, “Wait. How do you know my na—”

Yet he stops himself when he discovers that he’s talking to empty space where Angel had been a mere moment earlier. He spins around, looking right and then left, but he’s alone. No Angel in sight.

“Whoa.”

Another hour down the green trail and he makes it to the base of the mountain, down to Gondola Square where the hustle and bustle of skiers and snowboarders is usually the best atmosphere to boost his spirits and get him excited for life. He should be happy to be down there, to get out of skiing with one fucking pole on green runs littered with children and novice skiers worse than himself. He should be happy to emerge without incurring any sort of physical injury, especially when he had to throw himself into the side of the trail — against the impenetrable wall of the mountain to his right — to avoid a collision with the child to his left about to cut him off.

A ten out of ten wipeout for the books, flinging himself into an actual wall of a mountain. And he doesn’t even care. 

However, being truly happy for anything is impossible. Completely impossible thanks to a fucker known as Sirius Black. He has an inkling that once the rage settles down, his injury is going to be far worse than physical. 

But the rage is still there, burgeoning even, with every painful step that Remus takes once releasing his boots from the skis and carrying them across the square. He thinks about moments in his relationship he has actually been _angry_ at Sirius. The time they visited New York City and Sirius insisted on visiting a very famous sandwich shop. It would have been fine, Sirius’ inability to make up his mind between the Pastrami and the Porchetta, Remus would have been happy to participate in the very logical weighing of pros and cons involved in the decision that seemed to become a normal occurrence in his life with Sirius. Sure he would have, had he not just survived the cab ride from hell, swerving to barely miss pedestrians on the way, getting cussed out by other cabbies, only missing a couple of collisions by a mere sliver.

He had been frazzled at the moment, and his hunger had known no bounds, and there was a full line behind them when they reached the cashier to place their order and Sirius still hadn’t made up his mind, and Remus just couldn’t.

But Sandwichgate was nothing compared to this. A blip, something to laugh about, fighting about a sandwich order of all things. It was a mere breadcrumb, don’t pardon his pun, compared to this catastrophic piece of shit he might never recover from. He takes a deep breath at the thought and plans his next move.

It’s crowded in Gondola Square, and rather than stumble through a sea of people flinging the skis over their shoulders, Remus takes a moment to sit on a free bench — well, at least half free after two screaming children are given ‘snacktime’ on it — and seeth. 

And seeth he fucking does, because now that his mind isn’t preoccupied, things really start to sink in. It’s comical actually, how the one time Remus believes that the stars have aligned for him, _this shit happens instead_ . His fiance — scratch that — his _boyfriend_ , sprints away from him at his moment of greatest optimism and vulnerability, sprinting in knee-deep snow with the grace of a gazelle in his amazing well-fitted ski boots, leaving him on the top of a fucking mountain. Alone. 

With one pole.

What a fucking joke.

Remus hears himself begin to laugh — a truly maniacal sound at this point because it’s not stemming from humor, and he never knew he could channel the Joker so poignantly until this moment — and a second later a woman comes over to collect the kids next to him. 

He really needs to get the fuck out of here and spend some time alone. 

It’s 2pm.

After that, his body seems to be fueled by rage, and despite the throbbing pain from his ankles — and the regret that he didn’t just rent a locker for a change of shoes — he’s got bigger things on his mind. He manages to rush through the crowds, only having to apologize to one or two unfortunate people whom he hits with the skis that are haphazardly slung over his shoulder, before he stomps onto the first shuttle back to the townhouse. The only thing on his mind is getting his fucking boots off, throwing them into the gas-powered fireplace and dancing as they turn to ash, and taking the longest shower known to man before spending the rest of the afternoon in one of the spare bedrooms. Alone. 

He limps out of the shuttle ten minutes later, thrilled to find that the garage is empty of Sirius’ things. That’s one thing he doesn’t have to worry about at least. An consolation prize from the universe perhaps — yes we fucked up your entire day, and perhaps even the rest of your life, Remus, but at least you don’t have to face your despicable boyfriend right now, who is probably out doing God knows what without a care in the world.

A final fight with his ski gear, and he is swinging the door into the house open with more force than necessary. But it feels good, to get some amount of anger out. It’s healthy, and this time he doesn’t lose a ski pole in the process. 

“Oh there you are!”

Remus freezes. If he was angry before, the sound of Sirius’ unexpected voice makes him feel as though he is unhinged and his rage truly knows no bounds. As though he is planted to the floor, Remus pivots slowly to see Sirius sitting on the couch — freshly showered in a t-shirt and sweatpants — in front of the fireplace with a cup of coffee in hand and a puzzle laid out on the large coffee table in front of him. 

Remus slams the door behind him. And then uses everything in him to attempt to set Sirius on fire with his eyes. 

“Rem?” Sirius smiles. His eyes are curious. 

_And leave love bleeding in my hands_ _  
__In my hands again_

Remus feels his face darken. He’s losing control, and for once in his life, he decides to embrace the chaos. “YOU ABANDONED ME ON THE FUCKING MOUNTAIN,” he shrieks before regaining control of his frozen body and moving to unzip the snow-and-sweat-covered jacket he’s been living in. He moves a couple of steps to pull the coat closet door open and yanks a hanger out, fiddling with his jacket unsuccessfully for a solid ten seconds before realizing that nothing matters at all and he throws it on the ground instead. 

Sirius has the gall to look _shocked_ when Remus resumes eye contact with him _._ “You know the way. We’ve skied that route a million times,” he says, “Plus, I was tracking you on my phone. You were fine, skiing better than you ever have. And for how late you stayed out, I’m guessing you had a good time.”

Remus laughs manically for the second time that day. He’s fallen off the deep end and there is no going back now. His voice starts speaking faster than his brain can organize his thoughts, and before he knows it, he’s recounting every wonderful detail that befell him after Sirius sprinted away from his proposal. The right turn on the utility trail — which Sirius so graciously speaks up to let him know is called Duster — the lost pole, the snow-shoers.

“Thank God some magical man with a peg leg showed up by my side on a snow mobile—”

“What?”

“Oh yeah. It was great to find out that I can rely on a random magic man who shows up out of nowhere more than my _alleged_ boyfriend, who fell away and left me to myself,” Remus throws out with a fury, enjoying the wounded vibe that is now wafting off of Sirius. “Oh yeah Sirius,” he goes in for another kill, “both of us can use legal terms. It’s not that difficult.”

Sirius sucks in a breath — and good for him for knowing when to let Remus roll on — but Remus doesn’t allow him enough time to even consider formulating a response all the same. Instead, he expounds on the finale, the crowded run back to the base and the faceplant into the mountain wall. 

Sirius’ face falls the further the story goes on, and there must be a causal relationship going on between their moods, because the more it does, the more Remus hates him. 

“That’s awful,” Sirius surmises brilliantly. 

Remus stares at him. “I’m going to go shower,” he says, turning on the spot.

“Yeah, do that.” Sirius throws out, so so stupidly. “Then maybe we can work on this puzzle until dinner?” He offers as bait. Because he knows, he fucking knows that Remus cannot resist a good puzzle, especially once he gets going on one. But he’s a different man now, and he sees the lure for what it is. Not only have his rose-colored glasses been removed, they’ve been thrown down, stamped on, and the shards have been thrown into the depths of Mount Doom. “I’ll give you a shoulder massage before we head out too?”

Remus shoots him a smile. But it’s not at all his normal smile, it’s mean-spirited and full of spite. It’s one Sirius has never seen before. “Oh _WE_ are not going to dinner, Sirius.” He forces his mouth to pull across his face even wider. “I will be taking those reservations we made tonight, and you can go fuck off somewhere else.” A pause. The smile holds. “How about that taco place you just _love?”_

It has the intended impact as hurt begins to write itself across Sirius’ already scarred face. “How dare you,” he answers in a most satisfying manner, because Remus knows just how much Sirius _hates_ that taco place. And Sirius knows that he knows. 

Remus wags an eyebrow tauntingly. “Oh. I dare.” He grabs his phone off the counter and takes a minute to pull up their reservation confirmation and edit it. “And I will be dining ALONE.” He pauses to press ‘confirm’. “At my reservation for ONE.”

Sirius takes a deep breath and sets his coffee mug down on the table before moving into a standing position. His posture is strong, and Remus rolls his eyes because he knows exactly where this is going. 

“Remus,” he starts, voice teetering on the edge between casually personable and full of authority. Just like it does when he is having a conversation with opposing counsel. Remus feels the desire to roll his eyes for seven straight years. “I was just stunned when you beat me to it. You just really have to believe me when I say I didn’t know what else to do in the moment. I acted on impulse—”

“No.” Remus cuts him off with something between force and indifference as he charges up the stairs and turns his brain off from listening to whatever sorry explanation Sirius is going to give him. He hastily grabs his suitcase from the closet and begins throwing all of his freshly-unpacked clothes right back into it. Once he is done, he zips it back up and drags it over to the stair rail so Sirius can hear what he is going to say next. 

“I don’t want to hear whatever bullshit is going to come out of your mouth. I’m _sure_ you have some charming reason, Sirius. But unlike everyone else you talk to, I don’t give a fuck.” And it’s truly satisfying to just say things without thinking them through first, and as he drags the large suitcase back down the stairs, he finds a bit of unexpected delight in all of the banging noise it creates. 

Sirius is unexpectedly quiet, and as Remus passes him as he moves to the stairs down to the basement, he decides to add on another delightful sentiment. “Oh, and those plans we had for tonight?” he throws out with another smile. “You’re going to be _sleeping_ alone for the rest of this trip.” Sirius’ eyes widen, like a child who has just been told that Santa Claus is no longer coming for him and him alone. It spurs Remus on further. “Yeah, that’s right. No sex. No tunic. _No Shakespeare.”_

Sirius’ jaw drops about an inch as a sad noise comes out of his mouth. It matches the forlorn look on his face, and to top off Remus’ rage, it looks like he doesn’t understand at all.

And get thee to a nunnery because the fury boileth over now. “BECAUSE YOU ABANDONED ME ON A FUCKING MOUNTAIN,” Remus hurls at him with a force so powerful he feels a little lightheaded. “BECAUSE YOU RUINED EVERYTHING.”

And with that, Remus does not wait for a response, he blocks out anything he says next as he drags his suitcase down to the basement, locks himself in one of the spare bedrooms, and heads for the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirius Black... more like Sirius *White*.


	3. Day 2, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the chapter: [Sorry](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ELbX5CMomE) by Justin the Biebsenberry.

Instead of transitioning effortlessly into General Public’s _Tenderness_ as per the original plan, Remus’ 90’s montage careens off the proverbial road and explodes into flames at the bottom of a desolate abyss below filled with fire ants and abandoned dreams. Remus could come up with a more appropriate song as a replacement, to go along with the turn for the worse that his romantic getaway had taken — shoutout to Avril Lavigne for that — a real anthem to accompany the betrayal that brought him back to those feelings he’d recovered from years ago. 

But forget that shit. The montage is beyond being salvaged. Because it was a silly idea to think life and love actually operated so predictably, and now he is paying the price for such foolish optimism. So much for his happy ending.

Six o’clock comes eventually, along with a fairly substantial deescalation in Remus’ overall temper. A piping hot shower, a King-sized bed, and a heavy dose of privacy never fails to calm him; but even that combination can only do so much after the day he’s had. 

It’s quiet as he heads back upstairs, a good sign, but he only really has to cross through the kitchen to grab the car keys even if Sirius is still taking up space on the main floor. Which he is, twenty seconds later reveals, sitting in the armchair next to the fireplace with a book in his hand like a fucking advertisement for LL Bean. 

And it’s more bullshit, Remus labels it, as a surreptitious double-take reveals that Sirius is allegedly a quarter of a way through a copy of ‘Moby Dick’ that he has magically attained somehow. Remus cannot, he will not, take the bait. 

For one, Sirius despises leisurely reading, and not once in the span of their two year relationship has something of this nature ever occurred. And two, what an absolute sham he’s wasting his eyesight on.

Remus grabs the keys and doesn’t look at Sirius as he tosses out a curt, “Bye.”

“Bye sweetheart.”

Remus reminds himself just how much he hates Sirius Black as he lets the door shut behind him.

In a stunning turn of events, Remus does not, in fact, hit any ice while driving to the restaurant and meet his untimely demise. And given the events of the day, it’s truly shocking that by 6:10pm he is walking into the warm, vibrant restaurant a whole five minutes early for his reservation. 

“Sir? Can I help you?” the young, friendly hostess asks as soon as he walks towards her podium. 

He clears his throat. “Yes, reservation for Lupin, please.”

“Lupin... Lupin,” she repeats as her eyes scan the screen in front of her. “Oh yes, we have you right here. Reservation for one.” She looks up and shoots him a sweet smile. “Remu?”

Blink. “Mm what?”

“Your first name,” she assures him, smile unwavering. “Remu.”

And that’s enough to bring him back down to earth. And fucking why the hell not. “Sure,” he deadpans, because ultimately he doesn’t have the energy to correct her at this point. 

She leads him to his table, a small one meant for two near the very populated bar. It’s a high table, one that Remus could stand at to eat, but he pulls out the tall chair and takes a seat instead. Remus notices a large group of women at one of the large tables to his left. It should be noted that they are not difficult to notice given the color coordination and volume of their laughter and the balloons which identify all but one of them as ‘Bridesmaids’, and the one wearing an ornately bedazzled sash as the ‘Bride’. A bachelorette party! How, just — how stunningly perfect.

And to top it off, Justin Bieber is singing _Sorry_ in the background. How very apropos, Remus thinks, how rich that the universe is considerate enough to supply him with a shitty soundtrack for his shitty life. And yes indeed, Justin, it is much too late to say sorry.

Celebration all around him, charitably reminding him of how he _should_ be feeling tonight. It’s a modern setting, especially compared to the woodsy vibes of the townhouse and lodges he’d been spending his time at in the small ski town, but he’s all for an ambiance shake-up tonight. The restaurant’s lighting is dark and sexy, offset by a bar of brushed metal and marble with long mirrors behind twinkling bottles of booze. There are young people congregating at the tables scattered nearby, flirting, having a wonderful time after a wonderful day and enjoying the vibrancy of their wonderful youth before it’s all snatched away from them and they careen into the freezing depths of disappointment and heartbreak.

But maybe the song isn’t _that_ bad. God that’s catchy, Remus gives it with only a touch of reluctance. Real fresh.

“And here is your menu,” the hostess’ bubbly voice breaks in. “Your server will be with you soon, Remu.”

“Great, thanks,” Remus mumbles in relief as he takes the menu, finding the decision of what to order for dinner from the restaurant of his dreams far safer territory than observing the lifestyles of the happy and unbroken. 

But even that proves to be a heavy task, because within minutes, he is in a mental space he absolutely despises: indecision. He can’t for the life of him determine whether or not he wants to order the lamb burger or the paella. And as he goes back and forth between the merits of each of them, he cannot help but blame Sirius for this discomfort. Even his absence is a punishment, and if he could have just fucking been at dinner with Remus, they could have ordered both of them and shared. After all, Sirius loves paella, and this place is known for theirs. And one of the qualities Remus _would_ have cited as a top ten favorite of Sirius’ is his love of sharing food, but tonight the man has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Remus glances up, catches sight of a couple walking up to a nearby high table, dewy love sparkles in their eyes as they take in the beautiful interior arm-in-arm. Remus drums his fingers on the table and browses the scenery to his left.

Justin is singing on about missing more than just his lover’s body, and Remus scoffs because he doesn’t even miss _th_ _at_ , as he takes note of another couple sipping on white wine and enjoying the grilled shishito pepper appetizer — which judging by the size, he doesn’t have any justification to order for only himself. 

No, Justin. No, he doesn’t miss the flat, firm planes of Sirius’ stomach. The way his broad shoulders transition to sinewy biceps that are so adept at holding Remus in position; how the muscles of his hips lead down to that region of Sirius’ body that was crafted in the likeness of a Greek god. No he doesn’t miss it at all.

And the lie detector determines _that_ is a lie.

He hears somebody cough very close to him, and he whips back around to the right and out of his inappropriate daydream. “Hi,” a feminine voice follows right after, and Remus looks up to see one of the bridesmaids standing at his table expectantly. Her blond hair is curled into tasteful waves, she’s wearing a silver long-sleeved dress, and she smells like Chanel No. 5, but her classy choices are tempered with a bright pink lip that Remus can only deem trouble. She smiles and bats her long eyelashes as his eyes meet hers, and Remus’ heart indeed drops. 

“Hi,” he answers, and it’s actually a marvel how he manages to drag out a word with only two letters in it. “Do you need that chair or something?”

She laughs, popping out her right hip and letting her forearm drop onto his table, and she answers in the negative. “Are you in town for the skiing?” she asks instead, no hesitation at all.

He glances up from the arm that’s invading his space. “Yes,” Remus offers.

“Did you have a good time out on the mountain today? Snow conditions were fantastic, right?” She asks, voice coming out in some combination of bubbly and seductive, “And the temperature? Incredible.” 

Remus watches as she delivers a masterful flip of her hair. “I had a horrible time.”

“Listen,” she plows on, leveling with Remus as she leans closer to him. “My friends over there and I,” she gestures behind her to the group of women who seem to be doubling as a bachelorette party and Remus’ audience, “we think you are hot. Like, really hot. And somebody put out a dare to come talk to you, so I had to be the one to jump on it.” Remus blinks twice. “So hi, I’m Daphne! I’m a little tipsy and I am not afraid to tell you how hot I think you are.”

A chorus of giggles and cheers float over from the large table over to his, and Remus wants to cry. Really and truly cry. He racks his brain for what to say, and in retrospect there are so many easy ways out of this conversation, the most obvious being the fact that he is, indeed, still gay. Or if he wants to leave out the details of his sexuality, that he has been in a loving monogamous relationship for two years — and yes reader, even though today did not go as planned, that fact remains unchanged.

However, in a moment of unadulterated panic and an aversion to tossing out anything actually personal, words that sound something like, “I’m too old for you,” topple out of his mouth instead. Brilliant, Remus. Really outstanding.

Alas, she is undeterred. Perhaps the opposite, for she leans even closer at this bit of information. “What are you, early 30s?”

“Thiry-six.”

Daphne throws her head back in laughter before thwarting his reasoning with, “I’m 30, not 21 honey.” And why does everything seem to be so difficult for Remus? Sirius would be thrilled if this happened to him.

This thought introduces a new spiral altogether, and the question emerges of what Sirius must be doing since Remus cut him out of the dinner. Sirius Black is not one to mope around with regret, to have a bad time when there is a whole world out there to explore and discover new fun experiences in. Remus envisions the wonderful time Sirius must be having; the man never has a problem doing anything solo. He probably walked to that great restaurant at the base of the mountain, the one with the fantastic happy hour and live music. Sirius would fucking love to be the dare of a bachelorette party, it would be his dream come true.

“So how long are you in town for?” Daphne asks, continuing where she left off.

Another ripe opportunity to lob her a white lie that will end this blasted conversation since he botched the first opening, like oh I’m flying back to wherever-the-fuck first thing in the morning, or just until my court hearing next week where I’ll be sentenced for seven counts of drug smuggling charges. 

“Just a few days,” he puts out instead, flailing inside for no reason. “I’m really busy though.”

“Ooh,” she says, “busy with what? Any big plans?”

Remus runs his hand down his face and lets his chin rest in his palm, looking down now at the menu again in a Hail Mary designed to make himself as uninteresting energetically as possible. “Nothing noteworthy,” he mutters, “just a lot of… errands.” _Errands._ Why.

Something about cutting off his nose to spite his face enters Remus’ mind before he realizes that Daphne has abandoned making conversation with him after getting called over by the bride, sent a parting wave, and is retaking her place at the table to down one of the shots that just arrived for the group. Unfortunately, a few eyes are still watching him with a hungry look, but it’s an improvement overall.

And he’s officially deeply uncomfortable about everything at this point in the evening. But he knows that Sirius isn’t. 

Nope, by now he’s sitting at a bar, probably drinking whiskey, waiting for his steak to come — a steak he ordered with zero hesitation or regret about not ordering something else on the menu. The hottest girl on the mountain is probably flirting with him — “hey I saw you on the ski slopes, you’re just _amazing,_ I bet you could teach me a thing or two _” —_ and he. is. loving. it. He’s giving it back, asking about which runs she enjoys before the conversation shifts to what he does for a living. She begs for some interesting stories, and Sirius, never one to resist an opportunity to exercise his storytelling skills, is giving her an in-depth description of some gruesome murder case. Everyone _loves_ hearing about murder cases. And Sirius is just reveling in the attention of being a hero, not even comprehending Remus’ absence at all. 

Asshole. 

As Remus descends further and further into his fabricated misery, he can picture Sirius ascending further and further into the Perfect Night. And he _still_ can’t decide which entree to order. He’s suddenly so overwhelmed by it all that he simply cannot stand it anymore. 

He pulls out his phone and slams out the text message, _So where did YOU end up going to dinner,_ going so far as to send the message without punctuation. 

Sirius’ read receipt appears as soon as the text is delivered, and no less than three seconds later he’s typing a response. Then a picture arrives. Remus expands it immediately.

A picture of trail mix. The bag of trail mix that Sirius had bought at the gas station on the drive up. Sitting on his lap, the distinct rustic fabric of the same chair Remus had left him in beneath it.

A gulp.

And Remus’ resolve crumbles immediately. 

_Okay,_ he types back a moment later. _You need to get over here right now._

Remus flips his phone over after the text is sent, having no desire to see the response since Sirius _is_ going to show up in no less than 15 minutes. The idea of him not coming is absolutely not a possibility.

His waiter shows up a moment later, and after ordering a beer out of spite — as wine was meant for celebration and those plans had gone out the window, or down a fucking mountain rather — a bit of happiness bubbles up from within him when he realizes that he no longer has to choose between two entrees. And appetizers. He feels another little excitement tremor and turns his newfound focus back to the menu.

After putting in his order with the waiter, Remus registers people coming and going based on the cold drafts greeting him every so often at the back of his consciousness, but eventually someone enters — even though it’s only been ten or so minutes — and Remus doesn’t even have to question that it’s Sirius who has just entered the building. Without looking directly, he just knows; the person’s body language is energetic and sure, and Remus pretends he isn’t at least mildly pleased that Sirius had been waiting on his beck and call, so to speak. 

The figure approaches the table, and Remus only looks over when he hears the chair slide across the floor. Sirius has removed his coat and is hanging it on the nearby hook as he eyes Remus suspiciously. Sort of like the way one might approach a giant bomb in hostile territory that may or may not be armed. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Remus chimes most unpleasantly. He’s actually impressing himself tonight with this newfound ability to express such depth of feeling using merely the word ‘hi’.

“You got beer,” Sirius comments with curiosity, ignoring the tone.

Remus nods slowly. “And it’s horrible,” he goes with.

Sirius hums knowingly. “We’ll get the wine list,” he decides before flagging down a waiter. Once that’s done, and he hands the small menu over to Remus, Sirius takes a drink of the beer. He wrinkles his nose a little.

“I ordered you the paella,” Remus informs him as the beer is slid back in his direction.

Sirius’ face lights up. “How perfect.”

“Yeah it looks amazing,” Remus says. He clears his throat. “I was hoping I could try it.”

Sirius laughs. “Of course you can.”

“And a bunch of appetizers. Shishito peppers. Peruvian potatoes. A couple others.” Remus reaches over for a drink of the so-so beer just because he can. Then, “I’m starving.”

Sirius gives him an approving nod. “And we’ve been looking forward to this restaurant for a while. Lots to try.”

Remus adds to the stiffness of the conversation with a curt _mhm_. But Sirius doesn’t seem to mind, given it’s a vast improvement from hours earlier, after all.

Sirius takes a deep breath, sets his elbows on the table and leans forward. “So can I talk to you now?”

Remus, man of total maturity, eyes him for approximately two seconds before turning his focus down to the wine menu. And it should be said that his focus is not legitimately on the wine menu, but he’s doing a grand job of creating the perception that it is. 

“Remus.”

Sniff. He flips the menu over and keeps his eyes glued to it. Unfortunately, this side is blank. Despite this unexpected checkmate from the universe, he counts to ten as he stares as though it is the most interesting thing he has ever read. At second 12, his gaze shifts upward. Sirius is looking back at him, unperturbed by the very palpable tension between them. Completely unafraid. His expression is firm, but there’s a softness there too. Remus isn’t quite sure he’s ready for it, but it’s coming all the same. 

“Remus I’m sorry,” he speaks genuinely, and Remus knows he _is_ genuine. He knows him well enough by now. And it’s somewhat disarming for Remus when Sirius gets like this, increased even moreso in public. Remus manages to hold his gaze for about half a second before he has to look away. 

He coughs. “Okay.”

“I know it’s not _okay._ The brand new Remus I experienced today let me know just how not _okay_ it was,” Sirius says quietly. “I’ve never seen anything like that, actually. I’m inspired.”

Remus cocks his head to the side. “I’m sure it’s hilarious to you.”

“It’s not. At all,” Sirius counters, shaking his head minutely. “I’m sorry,” he emphasizes, leaning forward with the word, “really, Rem.”

And Remus is almost annoyed to acknowledge that he has indeed been softened by the trail mix, but he finds that he would rather try to salvage some enjoyment out of the evening now that he knows Sirius wasn’t out galavanting around the mountain as though nothing had happened. 

So he takes a deep breath and musters the strength to look Sirius back in the eye. “Can we just talk about it later. I’d rather delve into the betrayal that led to my mental breakdown when I’m not surrounded by an audience,” he nods his head in the direction of the bachelorette party, to which Sirius gives out an _ohh how fun is that_ , completely unperturbed by Remus’ very intentional and slow enunciation of the word ‘betrayal’ _._ “Right. And as happy as I am for the bride, I don’t want to gift her anything similar to the little show you received earlier.”

Sirius’ smile widens before he lifts the beer up to his mouth again and takes a drink. “Do you see a wine you want?”

That’s a safe topic that Remus is happy and relieved to explore, and he allows Sirius to become privy to the debate going on in his mind between the cab from Paso Robles and the blend from the WIllamette Valley and which one will pair best with lamb. Neither will be sympatico with the paella, but Sirius is never picky about that — something he assures Remus of for the hundredth time when he begins to abandon his original choices and look into something lighter. _But I want the seafood to really shine for you,_ Remus insists, to which Sirius sends him just as many shooing gestures and insists right on back _as if those shrimp need any help with that._

“Hi again,” Remus hears from his right, breaking through Sirius attempting to take control of the decision by simply repeating “Willamette. Williamette. Willamette.” whenever Remus suggested another wine that could be a compromise for them both. Something in Remus’ tone must have given away that was the one he really wanted.

“Oh hello,” Sirius answers for him, leaning his chin in his hand as he turns to Daphne, who is now accompanied by a friend and standing at their table. “Are the two of you already acquainted?”

“Not re—“

“Yes,” Daphne cuts him off, leaning towards Sirius now that she has discovered that he’s further along the spectrum of loquaciousness. She takes a sip of the drink she is holding — a cranberry vodka Remus guesses — and “I was dared to come talk to him.”

“Ohhh.” Sirius’ mouth breaks into the widest grin of the night. He looks to Remus for a split second before he leans closer towards Daphne and her friend. Those poor girls, it’s a hypnotizing gaze, Remus knows. Like a succubus luring prey. “No better time than a bachelorette party, right?” he plays along, to which he gets an enthusiastic _right?!_ in return. And Remus wants to hate it, he really does, but ultimately decides it’s impossible, and he is slightly excited to see where this is going to go.

Sirius puts a brief pause to the burgeoning flirtation to wave a waiter over and makes the decision for Remus. Willamette Valley red blend it is, and Remus isn’t mad about it. 

“But he didn’t seem too social,” Daphne elaborates with a pout as soon as the waiter leaves to grab the bottle of wine. “But maybe he will be now?” Her gaze moves to Remus and there is hope in her eyes. “Now that his friend is here?”

“He’ll be better once he gets his bottle of wine,” Remus’ _friend_ assures her before they break into a little small talk. The second woman’s name is Erin, Remus discovers, and her eyes are nearly drilling laser beams into Sirius. 

And even though this isn’t what he had in mind for dinner conversation — particularly the extra company — Remus is almost grateful for it. For the buffer between him and Sirius, a semblance of the type of goofy normalcy that has made his life so wonderful for the last two years. And apart from answering a couple of simple questions that the group addresses to him, the pressure on him is really low.

The wine arrives and Remus helps himself to a generous pour once the waiter leaves and gives a normal sized splash to Sirius, before settling into his seat and waiting for the inevitable topic to come up. 

And come up it does. 

After finding out that Daphne is an event planner and Erin is a physician's assistant, they delve into conversation about their respective careers until the question is turned on the two of them and Sirius informs the table that, “Remus here is in public relations, heads his own team for a tech company. And I’m a lawyer.” Remus hums a confirmation before taking a rather large drink of wine.

In some ways Remus’ world has become unpredictable since falling in love with Sirius Black. Spontaneous trips out of the state when a trial was cancelled. Finally trying the lemon ricotta pancakes at that famous brunch place with a heinous wait time, because meandering around the block for two and a half hours is actually _enjoyable_ when it’s with someone you love. The man strutted into his life and put Remus’ comfort level out in exchange for a type of happiness Remus had no idea he was capable of experiencing. But this, this whole situation is one thing that is as predictable as Remus’ morning routine. That is to say, like Newton’s third law, it simply is so and there is no deviation.

A sharp intake of breath. “A prosecutor?” Erin repeats with overt fascination. It’s a scene that plays itself out pretty much like clockwork, and quite frankly, usually gets Remus hot and bothered. But right now, given the circumstances, Remus is mostly indifferent. So another gulp of wine it is. “Do you like it?”

“Wearing the white hat?” Sirius clarifies with a theatrical hum. “I love it. It’s what I was born to do.”

“So you see a lot of crimes then huh?” She asks, waiting with bated breath.

“I do,” Sirius affirms with a glint in his eye.

A daring grin forms on her face. Sirius mirrors it right back at her. And that is enough for her to ask what she really wants to know. What everyone wants to know, really. “Tell me about the craziest case you’ve ever had.”

And once upon a time, even Remus had asked the same question.

“Oh no,” Sirius says in a hushed tone. “No, I couldn’t.”

Two pouting faces now. “Why not?” Daphne wants to know.

“It’s too gruesome, I wouldn’t want to scar you,” he counters matter-of-factly. And at this point, Remus readies himself for some internal guesswork. His thinking cap is on.

“Oh you _have_ to,” Erin demands desperately. “I listen to crime podcasts all the time,” she supplies, sidling in a little closer, “I can handle it.” 

Sirius lets out a hesitant sigh and looks to his left and right, glancing at the two women so at-attention. “You’re sure?”

Erin’s silver bracelets clink together as she runs a hand through her straight brunette hair, and Remus has to admit, her genuine excitement is pretty charming. “ _Yes,”_ she insists.

Sirius nods once. “Insane case, really. One of those moments where I really understood the saying, ‘real life is stranger than fiction,’ you know?” He starts. And what a set up. Even Remus can’t wait. And damn was this wine the correct choice. “So this guy was a serial killer. Had been at it for _years_.”

“Jesus,” Erin offers, shaking her head with a look of true concern on her face. “Had they been looking for him for all that time?”

“No. That’s what makes it so crazy,” he replies before taking a substantial pause. He holds out a hand and makes some serious eye contact with Erin. She returns the gaze eagerly as he takes a drink of wine before declaring, “So let me rewind here and give some background. This guy, we find out after years of discovery, has some sort of moral code related to his killings.”

“What?” Daphne cuts in, justifiably intrigued from opposite the table. “A serial killer with a _moral code?”_

“He only killed guys he deemed were ‘bad’,” Sirius elaborates. Remus tops off his own glass of wine, pretty sure he knows where this is going. And it certainly is a fun one that will only be enhanced by further libations. “So he specifically targeted criminals that he knew were getting away with harming other people. He worked with the local PD, with a job in forensics, so he had a keen awareness of how to hunt these criminals down. _And,”_ he tacks on with a raise of his glass, “an ability to manipulate evidence so that he never got caught.”

It was a risky choice, choosing a show popular enough to nab 24 primetime Emmy nominations, Remus thinks. Another swing of wine.

“So like,” she tries, “a vigilante of sorts?” A fire alarm could go off and she wouldn’t notice, judging by the pure enraptured look on her face. “A vigilante who was using his inside knowledge to get justice by taking care of criminals that may have evaded the system had he not taken it into his own hands?”

Daphne throws out a startled _Erin, he was a serial killer, not a hero!_ as Sirius considers this with a scrunch of his chin, weighing the idea before ultimately declaring, “Perhaps, but that’s not why he did it. Once we finally caught this guy, we found out that his father was a police detective. Had found him when he was a toddler at the scene of his mother’s murder, covered in her blood—”

Daphne gasps and puts her hand to her chest, glancing over at Remus and then back to Sirius. “Oh my god, that’s so sad.”

 _So_ sad. Sirius hums and goes on, “See, this detective decided to adopt him, to give him a decent life after the tragedy he had lived through at such a young age.”

Something like a coo falls from Erin’s lightly parted mauve lips. She’s really laying it on now. “Kind of him,” she muses. Remus smiles from behind his glass.

“He was an interesting guy,” Sirius gives her. “I never got to meet him because he died years before this case was even opened… but we found out a lot about him during the trial.”

“Like what?” She keeps at it.

“Like he knew for a fact that his son was going to grow up to be a serial killer.” Pause. There is a round of gasps, and Erin’s hand finds Sirius’ shoulder. He just nods and lets out a quiet _mhm_ before continuing smoothly, “That was his expertise. That was his entire life’s work. So when he was raising this child and noted the lack of remorse or guilt he had when he did something wrong, his violent impulsivity and need for control — combined with the extreme trauma the child went through at such a developmentally important age — well, he knew what he was dealing with?”

“So wait,” she says, raising the hand that had found its home on Sirius’ shoulder up now in disbelief, “he knew the boy was demented and didn’t do anything to stop it? To, to get him professional help?”

“Well here is where it gets even more unbelievable,” Remus cannot help but pipe in now, surprising the whole table. Sirius looks up to eye him with just a hint of glee that Remus knows only he can pick up on. Remus shoots him back the tiniest of smiles — small, so small — just an upward curve of the right corner of his mouth before turning his full attention back on Daphne and Erin. “He’s the one who taught him to do it.”

The women don’t believe the bomb he just dropped. It’s as though Remus just informed them that people from Phoenix are technically called Phoenicians. There is high-pitched hooting and there is hollering coming from the table.

Remus sneaks a glance. Sirius is absolutely _glowing_. 

And Remus knows that look. It’s full of pride. Of admiration. The first time Remus saw it on his face was when he had taken Sirius on a weekend backpacking trip and lit a fire for them using only a piece of glass and dry brush. It was evidently the sexiest thing he’d ever witnessed (Sirius’ words not Remus’) and led to a wild night when they got back to Sirius’ place after the trip. Truly memorable stuff. And that recliner chair never quite worked the same again...

But anyway. Remus drags his gaze away from Sirius and carries on, “He did it out of love, is what his mindset was apparently.”

Daphne tries the same move on Remus and grasps his forearm. “He taught his child to kill people out of _love_?” Daphne challenges him with total disbelief, her tone informing the entire table that this is the most ludicrous statement that she has ever uttered. 

Remus reacts the only way he personally knows how to and moves his arm out of harm’s way, gives her a nod, eyebrows raised as though to say, _unfortunately yes, I am not kidding about this tragic situation._ “He recognized early on that his son he adopted had been irreparably damaged from the trauma of watching his mother be murdered. He knew quite well the characteristics serial killers demonstrated and kind of put it all together. He loved his son, and he didn’t want to see him harm good people and end up spending the rest of his life in prison. So he built a code from him, to channel his urges — his ‘dark passenger’, as the killer called it in court — to really mitigate his… well, his condition.”

Sirius hums, attracting Remus’ attention. “That’s right… Such a deeply disturbing case, you wonder how it’s even real,” he mutters, nodding solemnly along with the observation. Remus snorts and hides it behind a cough.

“Jesus,” Erin says, switching her weight to her other foot in platform wedges and putting her hand to her forehead. “So why did it take so long to catch him?” 

Sirius breaks their gaze with a long steadying inhale before turning back to her. “Ah, well, two reasons actually,” he plugs back in, voice stoic again — really, an expert performance, and at such a young age too. “First, he was very good at killing. And second, he was very good at the clean-up.”

“Plastic wrap, right? Everywhere, if I recall what I read about him,” Remus throws in helpfully. “Disposed of the bodies from his yacht. Calculated right where to dump them off so that they would never reach shore.”

“That’s right, you remember correctly. Extremely meticulous, a genius of a man really...” Sirius affirms before glancing over and doing a double-take. “Daphne are you alright? Do you need to sit down?”

Daphne lets out a quiet groan as she looks back up after having bent down, adjusting her ankle buckle or something. “Oh, yes… well, new heels,” she says with a gesture down as if to say ‘you know how that goes’.

“Please take my seat,” Sirius says as he stands up immediately.

“Oh, I couldn’t. You two are about to eat,” she waves Sirius off but ultimately doesn’t seem too argumentative about it.

“Then stay until our food arrives. I don’t mind standing,” he confirms as he holds the chair out for her chivalrously and moves to stand next to Remus now, leaning his forearms on the table. She makes a comment about them being “so so sweet”, which Sirius returns with an uber quiet ‘at least someone here thinks so’, only audible enough for him to hear. Remus lets out a quiet laugh along with a nod, gently nudging Sirius’ side.

“So what was the other reason?” Erin breaks in, eager for the previous conversation to continue. And who wouldn’t be, for what a binge-worthy tale it was up until those horrendous final two seasons. “How did he successfully fly under the radar for so long?”

“It had to do with his moral code,” Sirius provides with a heavy dose of gravity. He’s standing close to Remus now, right next to him actually, close enough that their shoulders are touching. But the girls obviously aren’t picking up on any of it somehow — willful disbelief, he guesses. “He chose people who were monsters in their own right. People who also… once you investigated their lives, would have made a lot of enemies. Or who people really wouldn’t miss. So their disappearances would make sense or went unnoticed. It never gave enough cause for the police to notice any sort of pattern.”

Daphne stirs her drink slowly and her doe eyes go even wider. “Wow. Just wow. How have we never heard of this before? It seems like it would have been all over the news,” she says a little breathlessly. 

“You must have missed it somehow,” Remus hums at that. “You’ll have to look him up. The Bay Harbour Butcher.” And then, quickly, before anyone can respond, “But not tonight, don’t do it at night,” he insists with the most believable seriousness, raising his hand up in emphasis and glancing between them both, “the images will horrify you and you won’t be able to fall asleep. Trust me, I made that mistake once and I don’t wish it on anyone. Ever.” 

One of the women, Remus isn’t sure which one, repeats the name a couple of times. But Remus isn’t paying attention, his eyes are too locked in on Sirius’ now, which are dancing with gratification and delight and all things that make Remus really feel his heart beat inside his chest, especially when he knows he is the cause of them.

But other than his eyes, Sirius’ face is calm and serene, and his eyes, glinting with the golden light of the Edison bulbs dimly lighting the bar, hold communication only meant for him. And so Remus forgets, just in that moment, how absolutely-beyond-all-belief mad he is. How disappointed he is. Because he’s being pulled along in that current of silver and gold water — 

He catches a couple of words that are being thrown out in the background. ‘Tweed jacket,’ and then something about rice and ‘denim chicken’ and ‘the nightman’. Even Sirius, while still holding his gaze, responds with something involving the words ‘chapter 13 bankruptcy’. That sure is an odd turn of events, and he can feel his face morph into an expression of confusion as he tries to map out exactly how they moved from discussing a serial killer to the merits of risotto and then all the way to bankruptcy, of the 13th chapter to be exact. 

But he isn’t trying all that hard to figure it out, with Sirius leaning into his left forearm, a few inches closer now, almost hesitantly. Remus is holding firm eye contact and a small smile he can’t help, drawing Sirius in the rest of the way to leave a chaste kiss on his lips. And it’s strange that they can take a momentary respite from a day like today — in that bubble of their own they always manage to find no matter what — and end up connecting despite everything else. It certainly isn’t the end nor does it fix anything, far far _far_ from it, but Remus realizes how much he actually needed the reminder.

A soft cough from across the way breaks them out of it, and they turn back to the table and the world they’d taken a brief hiatus from. 

Erin and Daphne are staring slack-jawed.

“Well would you look at that,” Sirius chimes, gesturing to the waiter carrying the appetizers while quickly approaching the table. “Perfect timing.”

The girls stare another two seconds longer than they probably intended and Remus bites his lips to keep from laughing. “Yeah, looks like your food is here,” Erin says, grabbing Daphne’s elbow as the waiter sets the plates down, “we’d better let you have your table back then.”

They say their goodbyes and scurry away as Sirius throws out a positively enthusiastic _it was great to meet you!_ and Remus looks on after them. “I would almost feel bad about it,” he muses pensively while unwrapping his silverware, “if I hadn’t been clear from the start that I wasn’t interested.”

“Can’t blame her for trying. It was admirable,” Sirius says of it. He pauses in thought and kisses the top of Remus’ head before moving back to the other side of the table. “I like her,” he concludes as he slides his chair in closer and takes a seat. Sirius pushes an appetizer plate to Remus who nods in some sort of agreement.

As both of them are starving enough to eat an entire shishito pepper farm at this point, conversation starts to lull between them, mostly revolving around the food, and how absolutely perfect the tempura hen of the woods mushrooms are. It’s a showstopper, in Remus’ opinion. When the entrees make their way out and the mostly empty appetizer plates are whisked away, Remus feels the quietness between them shift from being simply just hunger induced, and he’s aware again of all the things that had gone unsaid the past 30 or so minutes once Daphne and Erin entered the scene as actual human buffers. 

It’s completely silent for two minutes before Sirius comments on the paella — and holy shit, it was worth the wait just on its own, really and truly, thank God for that — but Remus knows at this point that the fun intermission they’d had from today’s regularly scheduled tension is over and done. They are now both thinking about the topic they’re also collectively avoiding, and frankly, he wants to see how this develops. Remus has the gift of being able to really feel other people’s moods, and he observes that Sirius is coming off more and more anxious as more time passes, which is not something that happens often. On one hand, he’s a little surprised; on the other, Sirius isn’t used to Remus being genuinely upset and this is unchartered territory.

By the end of their meal, small talk has pretty much ceased altogether — talk of food can only go so far when there is an elephant in the room, after all. Remus notes that Sirius has pushed his hair to the side about eight times in the span of an hour, which is about four times more than normal. When the waiter drops the check off at the table, a sigh of relief can actually be heard across the table as Sirius reaches for it. But Remus is quicker, and he snatches it as he pulls out his wallet to pay, delivering a threatening look of “don’t even fucking try it.” And the absolute shocker of the night turns out to be that Sirius immediately backs his hand away and allows it to happen.

And with that, they’ve reached the end of their much-anticipated dinner at Chez Nous. Amazing food, as expected, but not quite the experience he’d been gunning for them to have tonight, for obvious reasons. The bachelorette party waves aggressively at them as they pass (with the exception of Erin), and Sirius reciprocates with a _see you on the slopes ladies_. The sweet hostess wishes them well as they step out of the warm and lively atmosphere of the restaurant and enter onto the cold, supremely quiet sidewalk outside. 

Just the two of them.

Of course there are other people out walking, but he and Sirius are alone together all the same. And the street is lined with trees adorned with twinkling blue and white lights, creating the feel of a never-ending winter wonderland. It’s a distinct juxtaposition, the beauty of the location in contrast to how Remus is feeling inside, an observation that registers sourly in his chest. How perfect this scene _could_ have been, he thinks, as he maintains a swift walking speed. It’s so utterly, stupidly wrong, and even though they had a humorous distraction during dinner for a while there, the emotions are relit inside of him, flames fanned to an even more violent level when he feels Sirius touch his shoulder from behind, begging him to slow down. 

Remus stops and pivots to face him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He asks, his tone far calmer, more even, than it had been earlier in the day. But by the look on Sirius’ face, the composure is having more of an impact than his emotional tirade earlier. “I mean, I’ve been racking my brain all day about it. I’m too mortified to text Peter about it to get another perspective, or anyone else for that matter. So I’m just wondering what could actually justify that you would rather run away from me than be proposed to.”

Ten long seconds pass. Sirius looks down for moment, and then promptly back up to meet Remus' waiting gaze. “I panicked because I had something else in mind, Remus,” he says, probably not quite as evenly as he intended.

“It doesn’t matter what you had in mind,” Remus deadpans, realizing that the only thing worse than his botched proposal would be tacking on an elaborate version from Sirius in its place after the fact. “You took that moment away from me. From the both of us. It was _happening_ and you _ran away._ ” Remus throws his hands up in frustration, only barely noticing how numb they were becoming from the cold. “What am I supposed to do with that? Do you think I’ll be happy with _anything_ you have planned now? Do you think I’ll say, ‘oh perfect! It’s on Sirius’ terms now, I’m so honored, it can finally happen!’” 

Sirius pulls off the gloves he so savvily remembered to bring, and pushes them at Remus. “Will you put these on please? Your hands are red.”

Remus narrows his eyes. “No.”

Sirius exhales slowly, pushing one of his now-bare hands into his hair as he turns his neck to look away for a brief moment. Because, for someone who thrives on confrontation for a living, this conversation somehow has him frozen. 

Remus waits. And he’ll wait as long as has to. It’s Sirius’ turn to talk now.

Sirius turns back. 

“I don’t know what to say, Remus,” he actually _pleads._ And that’s a couple of firsts happening at the most inopportune time. Remus doesn’t flinch and eventually Sirius tries again. “I was really fucking stupid. I wasn’t thinking, and whatever instincts I was working off of were about me and not you. About how I wanted this time around for me to be done right — how I did it wrong the first time, despite knowing it was wrong the entire time, and how I couldn’t wait to do it right and enjoy every moment. And then, I don’t know, you had similar plans and I was losing control of this perfect situation I saw for myself and…” he makes an undulating motion with his hand that Remus decifers is a representation of him unceremoniously skiing away from him. He blinks. Sirius sighs. “Remus, we both know we are getting married,” he pleads further, causing Remus’ body to literally recoil away from him. “It’s a given. We’ve known it since our first anniversary when you drew me as My Cousin Vinny. This is just logistics.”

With a forceful shake of his head, Remus’ frustration threatens to boil back to the surface. He looks off to his left and focuses in on a couple of guys in cowboy hats loudly leaving the bar across the way as he waits for it to temper down. And a deep breath before, “That’s so far from the point, I can’t even respond to it,” Remus says of it. “And it’s not, Sirius. It’s not a given,” he adds on stoically just because he can. He isn’t sure he means it, given he’s been somewhere approaching the high end of his emotional range the entire afternoon, and although it’s impossible to sort out anything _real_ at the moment, it sounds like he means it, and that’s what matters. 

Sirius says nothing as his eyes dart to the right and a hand moves up to scrub at his face for a couple of seconds. 

“You’re an idiot,” Remus says without feeling, his voice as cold as the temperature outside as he breaks Cardinal Relationship Rule Number One about calling his partner a negative name. He doesn’t plan on making it a habit, but he’s been tested to his limit and he is certainly not a perfect man.

“I am an idiot,” Sirius confirms unnecessarily. It spurs on Remus’ frustration further.

“I don’t know what else to say,” Remus throws out, more loudly than his usual speaking volume — because even though the evening out has calmed him down majorly, he is still quite untethered and it’s become common knowledge by those in-the-know that his rage knows no bounds. “I’m trapped in this space of being stunned, disappointed, pissed off, and really fucking betrayed.” 

Sirius’ shoulders shrink down. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

“It’s not about what you can do to make it up to me,” Remus responds to the pained look on Sirius’ face, “Or punishing you. That’s not the type of relationship I want.” He becomes quieter and puts out a huge, exhausted shrug as his own words sink in. “I don’t know what to do.”

Sirius waits a couple of seconds before taking a small step forward. “I know It was a really stupid moment for me, Remus. An incredibly inconsiderate, insensitive, stupid moment,” he observes. “I don’t want it to define our relationship, not when everything else is so good. But I want you to have the freedom to sort through it without me trying to pressure you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t fair to you and not in a million years would you deserve that to happen.” Sirius breathes out a low sigh. “You know you’re the biggest priority in my life.”

It’s Remus’ turn to look away, because he _does_ know that. He’s known it from the time that Sirius showed up to pick him up from work unprompted, only a month into their relationship, on the day it snowed unexpectedly because he knew that Remus had biked and didn’t have a way to get home. He’d even brought the bike rack and turned the passenger seat warmer on.

“It’s just so typical for me, Sirius, to feel like that,” Remus admits, cringing when he hears his voice crack slightly. Because there is something about saying things out loud that hits so much harder than just thinking them. His face is feeling hot too, so he lifts his palms and presses them against his eyes before he continues speaking. “I haven’t felt like that in years, and I hate it. I’ve never felt that way with _you._ I hate feeling like I’m an idiot for finally thinking I deserve what I’ve always wanted. _Especially_ in that moment.”

“Remus it’s not because—”

“I know. I know,” Remus cuts him off, because whether or not Sirius loves him/wants to be with him isn’t at issue. “I get it. I mean, I don’t _get it_ ,” he stipulates with an angry eloquence. “It’s fucking ridiculous, but I get that part. I just don’t know why you had to be such an asshole about it, why you had to leave love bleeding in my hands.” Pause. A hint of a confused look from Sirius, whose face is now lined with a default look of regret and distress. But before he can ask, Remus continues quickly, “It makes me feel so stupid,” he concludes, exhaling loudly once he’s finished. 

It’s quiet for ten seconds, and then he feels Sirius grabbing his wrists and prying his hands from his eyes. Remus lets him. 

“I’m the stupid one, Rem. I should have let you have that moment.” Sirius takes a long breath and a breathy laugh comes out as an exhale. Remus thinks it sounds like regret. “I had just been thinking about it nonstop. Absolutely nonstop, for weeks. And I panicked, because _I’m_ the idiot. I didn’t think of anything except stopping it because it interfered with everything I’ve been working on,” he says, and then a sad smile lifts the corner of his lips. “You’d be really proud of me actually,” he laughs, “for all the planning—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Sirius straightens his face and puts his hands on Remus’ shoulders and takes another breath. When he speaks again, his voice sounds different than Remus has ever heard it before. If he didn’t know any better, he would say Sirius sounded nervous. “The thing is… I love you so much.” He leans in to really drive the point home and continues, “So much. And I have this life now that I never thought I could have. Ever. I existed in such a dark place for a while, and being with you is something I couldn’t even dare to imagine at that time, but somehow it’s just my life now. And you’re pretty fantastic, Remus. I don’t think you realize how much I love you, how highly I think of you. I _know_ you don’t realize just how wonderful you are—”

“Stop,” Remus pleads now, taking the gloves sticking out of Sirius’ pocket.

“No,” Sirius says, letting Remus slip the left glove on his hand. “You’re the smartest person I know. Neurotic about random things, that’s for sure, but so fucking dedicated to what you care about. You’re stupidly successful. Everybody you work with raves about you nonstop,” Remus distracts himself from the compliments by slipping the right glove on his own hand now, and what a toasty warm difference it makes. “You go and use your free time on amazing things, like initiatives to provide great jobs for people who were previously incarcerated and can’t overcome the stigma of that. I put criminals in prison, and then you rehabilitate them,” he jokes stupidly, but he’s not wrong, “don’t tell me there isn’t poetry to that.” Remus doesn’t. So Sirius continues, “Your idea of a casual bike ride is 45 miles, and your heart rate barely exceeds 75 percent on those inclines that kill me. On top of that, you’re really fucking sexy— _”_

Remus cuts him off with a whisper now, one last attempt. “Shut up.”

“You shut up,” he answers casually on the next beat. Comeback of the century. “And then you go on reciting classic literature and I’m mesmerized by you — mesmerized by this person who is unlike anybody I have ever met — and you _smile_ the greatest smile ever that is only meant for me, that only I ever get to see…. And it just hits me that, ‘how does this human exist?’ and ‘how did everything align for us to meet? At fucking jury duty of all places?’” He’s rambling now, and Remus finds he appreciates this absolutely new and authentic side of Sirius. “And I am dying to do _something_ that lets you know how much I love you for elevating my life into something I never knew existed.”

“Well you could have let m—”

“I know.” His answer is simple but totally sincere, and there’s a weight to his words. In that moment, Remus can see a pain in his eyes that mirrors his own a bit. But it is different, as causing anguish to someone you love typically brings a new sort of pain altogether than experiencing pain at another’s hand. “I’m so sorry. If I could go back in time, I would. And I wouldn’t fuck it up.” Remus nods, looks down at the icy concrete beneath their feet, and glances back up when Sirius continues on. “I didn’t appreciate in the moment how important it was because I was too fixated on myself. Because I’m an idiot. Truly the greatest idiot. And if you want to—”

“No,” Remus actually laughs at the ridiculous offer Sirius is about to make, surprising even himself. And it’s still not his genuine laugh, but it’s undoubtedly an improvement. “I think the moment has passed. I think the moment was _decimated_ actually.”

Sirius wraps his arms completely around him and pulls him close, swaying the both of them as he breathes warm air against the crook of Remus’ neck. “I love you, Remus,” he says, and a moment later, nuzzles a little deeper into the collar of Remus’ coat. “You make me excited for my life.”

And that’s a statement that is a lot to take in coming from Sirius, he realizes as his eyes zone in on the ski slopes lit up beautifully in the distance. Coming from a man whose life screams excitement and satisfaction at every level, he can’t help but allow the words to hit him with the force Sirius likely didn’t realize they had to somebody like Remus. He wraps his arms around Sirius tighter, like he means it, and he does. “I love you too,” he can’t stop himself from responding.

“Thank God,” he breathes against Remus’ sweater. The cold is starting to set in now that emotions have cooled down and Remus leans into him with slightly less hesitance. Sirius tacks on, with concern, “Are you really going to sleep down there?”

Remus is indifferent. He’s feeling rather numb now actually, anger having dissipated a significant amount. He needs time. “I don’t know,” he decides on. 

A squeeze. “I realize that I did kill the mood for sex tonight, but I am going to win you back before the trip is over, mark my words.”

Remus rolls his eyes, slightly wishing that sex was the last thing on his mind. But for him and Justin, that unfortunately was not the case. “Sure, Sirius.”

He smiles. “Being an underdog has never intimidated me,” Sirius counters with, almost back to normal apart from the small glint of sadness in his eyes that does not go unnoticed by observant introvert-extraordinaire Remus Lupin.

And really, Remus is skeptical that anything will save the trip from being forever known as ‘that time Sirius abandoned me on a mountain in my moment of ultimate vulnerability’, much less make Remus understand why the day played out as it did. But he doesn’t need to dwell on it right now, doesn’t need to hear whatever Sirius has to say about it. They are two complex individuals, after all, and sometimes not everything can be fully understood. So he settles on, “Can we just forget about the whole…” Remus waves his hands around, hoping it will communicate the word ‘proposal’ so that he doesn’t have to say it. 

Sirius laughs his own sad laugh as he leans forward to rest his forehead on Remus’. “Yes. We can forget about it for now,” he says. “And I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I had a stupid moment,” Sirius reiterates.

Remus hums. “I was there.”

“I hope…” Sirius stops to clear his throat before trying again. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Remus huffs out a full breath, watching it appear in front of him in a cloud of white. He looks at Sirius for a moment, a long moment, and finds the man across from him to be a different version than Remus had ever seen in two years of knowing him. ‘Uncomfortable’ is the word that pops into his mind, and that’s not a word that’s ever been used to describe Sirius Black before, Remus thinks as he takes this observation in. ‘Anxious’. Remus nearly feels bad about the worry lacing his expression, a look that makes far more sense on Remus’ face than Sirius’, but he really doesn’t have anything left in him to spare for Sirius right now. “I just want to forget about it, Sirius.” He turns towards the road and points to their car parked a block away, before digging for the keys in his jacket pocket to throw over to Sirius. “Let’s go home.”

Sirius gives him a half-hearted smile, waiting a beat before responding with, “Let’s go, Remu.”

The loudest groan is pulled out the depths of Remus’ soul while Sirius just looks at him with eyes that sparkle as magically as the snow-covered trees surrounding them. It’s truly ridiculous, and as Sirius’ smile turns into full on laughter, Remus can’t help but join in too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remu.


	4. Day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got three tunes for you related to this chapter :). 
> 
> 1\. [Come and Get Your Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bc0KhhjJP98)  
> 2\. [Gangsta's Paradise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fPO76Jlnz6c)  
> 3\. The most important, the most romantic, the song that brings out all the feelings from my soul. Highly recommend you listen to it while reading the ending. It's perfect. [Only You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NvSzjPee89w)
> 
> Also my Spotify playlist for this fic is here: [Proposal Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3A229THs999M4d5x4IVyKO?si=KdwNeP7_Ryq8P771aSrl0w)
> 
> So here we go :). There are flashbacks in this chapter, so if you wanted insight into the last two years of their relationship, you are IN LUCK. Also, if you want to know what my next fic is going to be based on, there is an easter egg nestled into this chapter revealing just that. Have fun, hope you enjoy, I put more hours than I can count into this.

Sunny, happy thoughts of montages and storybook endings are long forgotten as Remus stumbles into the third day of this tremendous bellyflop of a trip. It’s certainly been a memorable one, as expected, just not in the way he’d planned — obviously. So there’s no question as to why his mood is off. He wouldn’t classify it as distraught, not in comparison to the afternoon before, surely. More disheartened than anything, now he’d blown off the surface-level rage. Basically, just numb.

But at least the boot fitting that Sirius insisted on is happening, even though it had been initially against Remus’ will. His dreams were dashed anyway, he’d told himself in so many words, so why not destroy his ankles right along with them, or better yet, just call skiing quits because the sport is tainted now. Sirius’ brain didn’t work like that, however. So Remus now finds himself sitting in a surprisingly comfortable chair at a quaint ski shop as Sam the professional boot expert tries to get to the bottom of _why oh why_ his boots function far more effectively as medieval torture devices than athletic equipment.

“Well let’s just see what we’re working with,” Sam puts out as he crouches down in front of Remus and pulls up the leg of his pants with a flick of his wrist. Somewhere in the distance of the store, Remus spies Sirius stalking up an aisle of gear. “Ah, skinny ankles,” Sam diagnoses with a squeeze of one of Remus’ before standing up with some effort. And the move is rather intimate, but surprisingly, Remus doesn’t care. Sam is sort of comforting in his level of professional care and attention, like a medical doctor assisting a patient, except we’re talking about a boot fitting.

Remus sighs in resignation. “Yeah, so am I doomed to live out the rest of my illustrious ski career in pain?”

Sam tilts his head back as he expels a bit of laughter. And that’s good, Remus thinks, it’s good when people think he’s joking. “Of course not! This is an easy fix. I see it every single day.”

A double take. “Wait, really?”

“Of course,” Sam chuckles out, as if there are actual solutions to Remus’ problems if he just takes the time to seek them out. How novel. “It’ll take about 45 minutes since we need to mould them in that oven over there,” he gestures to the right. “And it’s a hundred bucks more than a basic fitting. Will that be alright?”

“Put it on my tab,” Sirius’ voice rings out immediately from Remus’ distant right, because somehow he’s developed sonar hearing.

Remus’ eyes settle on him for approximately three seconds as he approaches from an aisle, before drifting back to Dr. Sam, Boot MD. “Apparently we’ll ‘put it on his tab’,” he echoes without the usual fight that Sirius would likely be expecting. The one where Remus is more than happy to pay for his own gear, not least of all because he has far more expendable income. Sirius is evidently thrilled for his unusual compliance, face lighting up like a Christmas tree as he sets down a new set of ski poles on the counter with some gusto.

Remus figures those must be for him too. 

Sam calls Remus’ attention back to the task at hand after having taken out the inside lining of the boots. This is far more of a process than he’d anticipated, he begins to see as Sam explains everything that is about to happen. Who knew that fitting boots was such a science? Not Remus ‘My Ankles Are On Fire And This is Fine’ Lupin. It’s honestly a lot to take in, but the main piece of pertinent information that Remus clings to is the fact that he just needs to sit back and relax while other people take care of his problems. Well, this particular problem.

And while being a masterful boot-fitter, Sam is also a storytelling extraordinaire, filling the empty airtime with tales of how sparsely built-out downtown used to be back in 1988 and the time Clint Eastwood showed up looking for a pair of earmuffs. Remus finds him easy to talk to, easy to engage with, and has his interest further piqued when Sam starts detailing what exactly to do if your companion ever gets stuck in a tree well. Honestly, he’d been wondering about this very thing, given Sirius’ proclivity for adventure, and now he knows.

“This is the brand I keep talking about, babe.” Sirius pops over again, holding up a blue ski jacket in one hand while now snacking on a banana in the other. 

Remus’ eyebrows knit together, not quite recalling what Sirius is referring to. “What?” he asks.

“Elevenate,” Sirius answers, a little muffled as he chews, “The Swedish ski gear brand. Made perfectly for someone like you.”

“Wh—”

“Oh he’s right,” Sam intercepts, looking at the banana-eating man standing ten feet away with clear respect and professional appreciation. “I should have suggested it before, actually,” he goes on, giving Remus a quick once-over and nodding. “Didn’t realize you were looking for more ski gear though. It’s perfect for tall guys with long limbs, which can be a difficult fit for ski clothes.”

“Oh,” Remus responds flatly, with both of them looking at him now. “I’m fine with what you got me for Christmas, Sirius.” Because really, the last thing he needs is more expensive ski gear when he can barely even approach the black runs. And Remus is _tempted_ to throw out a comment about how his love cannot be bought, but it would be futile because Sirius already knows that. He’s the one who is always making gleeful comments about not being able to compete with Remus’ stock portfolio. 

Sirius laughs. “No, babe,” he counters, getting to the end of the banana now, “I mean, yes, you should be fine with your ski gear because that’s the brand you’re wearing. I just wanted to show you what else is out there when you want a little variety in your ski wardrobe.” 

“But I thought—” Remus starts and stops himself, because it would be ridiculous to argue the fact with the person who purchased the attire in question. Instead, he takes a look at the logo on the jacket draped on the empty chair next to him, on the bottom left leg of his pants, and sure enough, it matches the logo on the jacket that Sirius is holding. “Right.”

Sirius hums as he goes merrily back off into the clothing section to find something else new and exciting to show Remus no doubt, always content to entertain himself. And even given everything that’s happened, Remus is finding it annoyingly difficult to be upset. A testament to their relationship for sure, but Remus is ultimately confused by how far his feelings have de-escalated in less than 24 hours. Maybe he should be more angry, he thinks, and feels immediately guilty that he doesn’t. He’s not sure if he is betraying himself by merely indulging in the disappointment and not much else, but it’s the only thing he has the mental energy for at this point. 

Sam sets the mould and his boots are transferred into the oven, leaving him to his own devices for another 20 or so minutes. Sirius heads towards the door then and his hand motions in a way that Remus understands to mean that he is getting coffee, and does Remus want one of his own. Remus sends him a shrug and a look of apprehension. Maybe a small one? Sirius reads his expression for what it is and shoots back a thumbs up before heading out the door, leaving Remus to his thoughts while his boots bake.

The night before had panned out interestingly with Sirius, Remus reflects. It was all strikingly calm after the afternoon blow-up along with everything they had talked about post dinner. After making it back to the townhouse, they’d spent a quiet night next to the fire working on the Cleopatra puzzle Sirius was giddy to have found in the game closet, given Remus’ history.

It had been a ceasefire, really; an unspoken understanding between them that things weren’t really resolved, but at least they both had said everything they needed to say to each other. The night was easy on the whole, and comfortable enough that Remus only thought about the unopened bottle of Law on the counter once. 

And when exhaustion rolled around, Remus had indeed decided to return upstairs, finding that sleep surprisingly came easily once Sirius had lugged his suitcase back up from two flights of stairs below. He woke up once in the middle of the night, finding instinctive comfort in the rhythmic breathing coming from the man next to him, before rolling over and getting a few more hours before the day would start.

Sure enough, getting a good night of rest offered some solace; those who said that things often looked better in the morning were actually onto something. It was much later than he expected, he’d found out after checking his phone to see it was 9:18am (no early day out on the slopes today), and he was surprised that neither Sirius nor his alarm had woken him earlier. And even though Remus would have immediately admitted he appreciated the space, he actually missed waking up to Sirius next to him. 

A quick shower first, then Remus had slipped on his pajama pants and padded downstairs, hesitant to get dressed before he figured out what exactly the plan for the day would be. He was greeted with a fresh pot of coffee, which Sirius must have brewed once he heard the shower turn on upstairs, along with a gleeful report that ski conditions were great that day — but that it was up to Remus when they would head out. Sirius was already in a base layer and ski pants, but looked relaxed and content as could be with his mug of coffee and news app, no hint of needing to rush out anytime soon.

“Although,” Sirius had started, then stood up from the big leather chair next to the fireplace that he was clearly beginning to favor, “let’s stop by the shop near the gondola before we do anything. They will be able to fit your boots for you.” 

Remus waved him off as he took his first sip of coffee. “It’s not a big deal. Plus we are getting a late start.”

Sirius just _barely_ suppressed an eye roll, immediately answering instead with, “It’s a big deal. I really insist, Remus. They’re not supposed to be that painful.” 

“Well alright. If you don’t mind.” 

“I’ll mind if you keep putting it off and living in misery because you think it’s a bigger inconvenience than it is.” He’d shot Remus a big smile as he slipped his phone into his pocket and headed over to the kitchen. “Which it isn’t. At all. I want you to have a good time. The trip isn’t over yet.”

Remus coughed, appreciating the gentle push from Sirius regarding one of Remus’ biggest self-reported flaws. Plus, it was a fresh day, so he had the clarity to see the boot situation for what it was. Having any positive memories from this trip? Debatable. But not enduring excruciating pain along the way? He could get behind that. “Okay, let’s just do it,” he’d conceded, making his way into the kitchen too and choosing a pan from the cabinet, “I’ll make some eggs and then change so we can catch the shuttle.”

Sirius had finished washing and drying his coffee mug by the time Remus turned on the burner. “Sounds perfect,” Remus heard Sirius chime from behind him, feeling a hand on the small of his bare back as the other reached around Remus’ head to open the cabinet door to return it. Remus had tilted out of the way, but he appreciated when Sirius’ hand lingered there anyway. 

And now here they are, nearly done with the morning errand that would hopefully save Remus’ ankles from further abuse. He isn’t even sure what skiing will be like in the absence of the excruciating pain that had just become a part of the deal, but he isn’t necessarily going to get his hopes up so soon. Maybe it will bring his level of pain down from a seven out of ten to a sensible 3.5. Cautious optimism. 

“I thought about putting a splash of peppermint in your coffee to really put you in the winter mood, but I figured you’d prefer your usual,” Sirius’ voice broke in as he took the empty worn leather seat next to Remus. “But you can try mine if you’re curious,” he tacked on before taking a drink, his face contorting into one of displeasure as he muttered something along the lines of _too sweet, much too sweet._

Remus snorted. “Here,” he said, handing his paper cup back to Sirius. “We can share.”

Sirius reached over to take it before suddenly standing slightly and craning his neck to comment on a man walking on the sidewalk in a cow onesie and skis, before Remus couldn’t help but cut him off.

“Is that another banana in your pocket?” He made a mental note to tack that question onto the list of phrases Remus never thought he would sincerely ask out loud. 

Sirius hummed in the affirmative, sitting back down and waving his hand at the pocket in question. “Listen, I learned my lesson once. _Potassium_ ,” he says of it, then, “I bought one for you too in case you need it?”

Remus looks around at Sirius’ other pocket, which looks empty. “Where is it?”

“Somewhere.”

Remus had to laugh, then shook his head in answer. “No, I took some of those capsules this morning.” 

“Ah yes,” Sirius said, taking a drink and handing it off to Remus, “the miracle tablets.”

Miracle tablets _indeed._ And if Remus were ever going to turn into an Instagram model, they’d be the number one product he’d advertise, water dripping down his abs as he pulls himself out of an infinity pool in Cabo with a tablet caught tantalizingly between his teeth. Sirius would be incredibly supportive, of course, particularly after that weekend from hell that Remus subjected him to over a year ago and about this very subject. A weekend that had not popped into Remus’ mind in forever, come to think of it. 

But it was prodding at his mind now, incessantly. Importantly. 

“Let’s see how these feel,” Sam’s voice rings out as he comes back over to Remus and directs his mental attention back to the mission. Sam is carrying his freshly moulded orange and black boots, boots that could doom the rest of this trip to hell or ascend him into heaven — or take the pain to an uncomfortable yet sensible 3.5 as aforementioned. And now, it’s time for the moment of truth.

In an absolutely nonsensical turn of events, as soon as Sam slips his feet into the boots and he stands up, everything feels different. Remus was lost, but now he’s found. He was blind, but now? Now he can see. He thinks Sam may be wearing a halo, but he can’t be sure.

In some sort of miracle, the familiar sensation of glass shards has morphed into pillows hugging his knobby bones, and somewhere in the distance, a celestial voice rings out to him, and it’s saying ‘Remus, become who you were born to be’.

Remus takes a step. “Oh my god.” He takes another step with a bit of a lunge thrown in there. Pulse pulse. Not at all a 3.5, _oh_ , far from it. Just like heaven. 

“ _Oh my god.”_ He squats down and pushes up into a jump, causing a bit of a clamor in the process, but boy is it worth the odd looks. He stands with his hands on his hips. “Sirius… Oh my god?” because on a scale from one to ten, his pain is a nonexistent zero.

“When have I ever lied to you,” Sirius poses to him.

Remus whips his gaze over to Sam now. “Sam, what did you do?”

“Simple fix, buddy. Standard procedure.”

Remus whirls around back to Sirius. “I should have done this ages ago,” he laments, now tossing out a little hip circle.

Sirius nods and splays his hands. “Who would’ve known?!”

Remus knows the answer to that — he knows it as he is strutting through the store in his born-again ski boots just because he can. And he has no idea why he fought so long, intent on accepting defeat while there was an easily available solution the whole time, nor why he so often accepts defeat as part of his all-or-nothing mindset that makes him a prisoner of his own limiting thoughts. It’s nice to have someone who cares, he thinks, who knows that sometimes he needs an insistent push in the right direction. 

He turns, sending an actually enthusiastic set of thumbs up to both Sirius and Sam. God, these boots are _fresh_. 

The freshness continues after Sirius pays for the shopping trip and they head back out into Gondola Square. As they grab their skis off the rack outside, they are greeted with the absolutely funk-laden opening guitar riff of Redbone’s _Come and Get Your Love._ And he might as well be Starlord, because Remus doesn’t have to work to stay in step with the beat; nah, these newly freed feet strut to that rhythm all on their own. 

“I think I’ll even ski better now too,” he realizes out loud. Because how could he not, after no longer being held back by the Ankle Splitters.

Sirius takes his free hand. “I know you will,” he answers easily before putting out an _oh, excuse me, excuse me,_ and _please, excuuuse me,_ as he leads them through the group of people congregating in the Square. 

“Definitely more crowded when we leave later,” Remus surmises, and yet it doesn’t get him down. Not when he’s walking on clouds; not when he has the joint support of a gold medalist figure skater.

Sirius hums at that accurate statement. “As long as we stay off the greens, we’ll be fine,” he responds, unbothered, content as they pause at the end of the line for the gondola. 

But the line is moving fast, and Remus barely has enough time to rest his skis on the ground before having to pick them up and move forward with the snaking line of people. It’s a bit cloudy out today, a noticeable difference from the bright blue skies of the day prior, and Remus thinks that he may need to make use of those interchangeable lenses after all. Good thing he has them, because his visibility is not something he wants compromised when hurtling down a blindingly white mountain at reckless speeds. Which he will do now. Now that he has the freshest boots on the mountain. 

“How many in your group?” the gondola attendant asks Remus pleasantly and efficiently when they reach the front of the line. 

“Just us two,” he answers as he makes a gesture between himself and Sirius. 

“Alrighty, take cab 42 please,” she stipulates before finding a group of four behind Remus and Sirius and instructing them to also take a ride in the same one. Not ideal, not like the day prior when they had the cab to themselves to sail about the picturesque views of the snow-covered valley below the mountain in utterly romantic privacy. Remus shrugs that thought off, for very obvious reasons.

But strangely enough, Remus is brought back again to that memory, the one involving the Bike Ride of Doom that neither he nor Sirius called it, for the event was never actually brought up between them after it happened. It just sort of fell away, not really worth recollecting, he guesses. The bananas and the talk about potassium tablets had reminded him first, and now they’re coincidentally getting into cab 42, and it has Remus wondering just how that memory had fallen to the back of his mind for so long. 

A bike ride would be the perfect way to clear Sirius’ head, Remus had thought naively at the time. They had been dating for about seven months by that point, and Remus had never seen Sirius so busy and focused. He’d been preparing for a case, THE most important case, not only because of the alleged crime, but also because of who opposing counsel was. 

Marcus. 

*****

_It had almost felt like Marcus was the third person in their relationship during the month leading up to the trial for how much Sirius spoke of him. Always with a sneer when he said his name —_ Mahhhrcus _— leaving no question as to how little Sirius thought of this particular criminal defense attorney._

_“The man is just the epitome of schmooze, Remus,” Sirius would half-consciously complain at random times during the lead-up to the trial as he poured over case materials, and then, “I cannot stand him and his stupid hair and stupid face and how his charming little drawl gets the jury eating out of the palm of his hand, it’s infuriating.” Sirius had been known to throw out those kinds of run-on sentence jabs, which was absolutely rich coming from Sirius Black, for Remus quickly figured out that the root of his disdain was that Marcus used exactly his own bedazzling tactics and quick wit to win over a jury. He was his only real rival in that way, like a version of himself but blonder and taller and from Georgia, with a baby face and a boatload of smarm. And Remus knew that as much as Sirius wanted to win the case on its merits, he also really just wanted to see Marcus crushed before judge, jury, and executioner._

_“You’ve been working nonstop, babe,” Remus tells him when they awake Saturday morning, a couple days before the trial is set to begin on Monday. And it is a luxury having Sirius in his bed at all, given how many of his off-work hours he was dedicating to the case. “I know you’ve put in the work to win. I think it would be great for you to come out with me today for a ride. It will get your energy up for Monday and you will be unstoppable.”_

_A grumble. A bleary eye looking at him, considering the idea, then Sirius lands a kiss on Remus’ shoulder. “There’s no way I can keep up with you on one of your real bike rides Remus,” Sirius says in his hoarse morning timbre. “Although maybe you’re right about clearing my head today.”_

_“I am right,” Remus assures him with a smile. “And we’ll do an easier ride. I was going to go for 60 today but I can scale it back.”_

_Sirius cranes his neck to get a glimpse out the window. “It is nice outside…” he concedes, still with a bit of hesitation Remus is determined to put to rest. “You are really willing to scale it back?”_

_“Yeah, we’ll do the Emerald Mountain loop,” Remus decides right then and there, planting a kiss on his shoulder. “It’s 42 miles with lots of downhill. It’ll be such a great ride for you.”_

_A brief pause. “Rem, I think 42 might be too much,” Sirius throws out skeptically, running his hand up Remus’ arm with Saturday morning laziness._

_But Remus shakes his head with absolute certainty. “That 18 miler was no problem for you a couple weeks ago. This isn’t any harder than that. Just longer. And you’re acting like you aren’t in amazing shape. You run every morning and lift weights,” he says. He runs his hand through Sirius’ hair and adds, “This will be nothing for you, you’ll probably kick my ass.”_

_A hint of a smile at the flattery. “Are you sure?”_

_“Positive. You’ll feel amazing.”_

_Sirius hums, pulling Remus against him again and declaring, “Alright, I trust you,” before tacking on a muffled, “just give me ten more minutes.”_

_*****_

They’ve been paired with a couple from California and their two teenage kids, making for a full gondola ride to the top of the mountain. And conversation starts up early between them all, as is customary whenever Sirius is around. Thankfully, Sirius had allowed Remus a seat by the window and chose the seat next to him, offering him the perfect buffer from the group of strangers. But Sirius was always considerate like that. 

Typical ski-town conversation flows quickly and easily. _Is this your first time at the resort?_ is then followed by _Great snow conditions today, right? I feel like I am in a winter wonderland_ , catapulting into more personal territory like _Where are y’all from?_ And then the inevitable _Wow. How incredible to only be a drive away._

And Sirius manages it skillfully, taking care to convey investment in the conversation in a way that shields Remus from the burden of participation, all while including him just enough that he doesn’t come across as anti-social. A master of interaction, truly. Remus would always be in awe of Sirius’ ability to not only attend to everyone around him, but do so in a way that pulls out little details about people in the process.

“—and Catalina Island is just a gorgeous ferry ride away. Really, Sirius, you have got to make the trip to Southern California if you haven’t already. Ugh, there’s so much to see. And of course you’d pick up surfing right away, I can just tell,” the mother in the group was saying with animation. Remus’ heart did swell — he was only human after all. “Don’t you think so, Katie?” she turns to her teenage daughter to ask; the poor girl, stunned by the beautiful specimen sitting across from her, mouth slightly agape, can only nod in response. 

“Catalina Island!” Sirius exclaims, putting a hand on Remus’ knee as he continues, “We went to a wine mixer there for Remus’ work about a year ago or so. Gorgeous. The ferry ride there and the actual event.”

The fucking Catalina Wine Mixer. Another one of Remus’ not-so-shining moments.

“And it really is incredible just being a drive away from the Rockies. I get emotional simply living close enough to constantly see them whenever I drive around, like it’s normal,” Sirius goes on merrily — and it’s true. There’s not a day that goes by that Remus doesn’t hear about how lucky they are to live in view of a range so _powerful, Remus, so majestic._ And of course he agrees adamantly with the sentiment. “I feel like I’ve been spending most my life living in this winter paradise.”

Remus shakes his head at that last bit, a song triggered in his mind, again in relation to that memory, because it’s one of those days apparently. “What?” he breaks in, speaking outside of being asked a direct question for the first time since they entered cab 42.

“Yeah Rem, you know how I feel about this state. Winter paradise,” Sirius says, reciting the last two words more slowly and looking at him with a glint in his eye, and Remus just blinks at the coincidence. “I’m actually from Chicago,” Sirius says as he shifts his body back to face his audience, “so when I say it’s a winter paradise here, I mean it. Both have cold temps, yet the winters are completely differ—”

*****

_At roughly 15 miles in, Remus considers the bike ride a dream. Sure, there is a little more incline than he had remembered, but he isn't counting that as a bad thing — only an opportunity. The sun is shining down on their route, awarding them with panoramic views of the Rockies as Remus’ brain is flooded with endorphins and that crisp, high altitude air hugs his lungs. And Sirius is keeping up — albeit a slower pace than Remus’ usual, but he doesn’t mind one bit — and Remus gives himself a proverbial pat on the back for making such a great decision for his wonderful lover and attorney extraordinaire._

_Oh, Sirius is going to win that case, Remus daydreams knowingly as he arrives at the top of a small incline, barely a one percent grade, if he had to guess. He slows down as he peeks over his shoulder to see Sirius chugging along behind him. Sirius should probably thank Remus for all the extra gusto he’s going to take into the courtroom on Monday, he laughs to himself as he imagines it. Maybe give Remus a little credit when he wins the case and triumphs over Marcus for good. Maybe affix a couple extra letters after Remus’ name, Remus Lupin, J.D., and all he had to do was take Sirius for a simple bike ride._

_*****_

“Do you want to try the backside of the mountain?” Sirius asks him as they clip into their skis upon exiting the gondola and setting their skis onto the packed snow. “Something a little different?”

“The backside?” Remus says, mostly to himself as he hits his boot with one of his new ski poles to knock the snow off the bottom before clipping in. “You mean the easy powder runs through the trees?” Sirius gives him a nod before he clarifies further, pulling his gloves up as he recollects, “The one where James got caught in the powder after calling out ‘Look Remus, I have no legs!’ and nearly crashing into a tree?,” he pauses to snort. “‘Look Remus, I’m a floating torso!’ And then got really pissed because it took 25 minutes to find his ski and then literally crawl out of the snow?” 

“I’ve never heard so many curse words all at once,” Sirius confirms, sliding his goggles down. “But yes, that’s the area.”

“And then,” Remus starts up again, full-on belly laughing now at the incredible memory, hunching over with his hands on his knees, because there really is nothing like being pissed off on a snow-covered mountain — he would know, and it is absolutely hysterical in retrospect, “snow got into his jacket and down his pants? And he suddenly turned from the goofy ‘C’mon Remus, did you really need those underlayers? That’s pathetic, _I was made for the cold_ ,’ to actually _yelling_ at me to stop laughing and, I quote, ‘give me some of those fucking hand warmers I know you keep around so I can stick them down my pants.’”

“Mmmm, that is the one,” Sirius responds fondly, using his pole to push some of the snow clumps off his skis; and it goes unsaid that Remus never had any hand-warmers, and the trip back to the base was a beautiful catastrophe for that. 

“Great, let’s do it. I liked the powder.”

*****

_By about mile 26, their pace has slowed a bit. An incredibly noticeable bit, that is. Fourteen miles an hour on a flat road is not ideal for Remus, but it would be ridiculous for him to expect Sirius to keep up with his average of twenty to twenty-one when he hadn’t been road-biking for the ten years that Remus had. No, Sirius is doing great, Remus keeps telling him. And sure, maybe he isn’t getting the workout that he usually did on Saturdays, but Remus is out in the sun participating in his favorite activity with the love of his life. It’s perfection. How could he ever complain about perfection?_

_That thought echoes sweetly in his mind until Remus hears, “On your left!”, the distinctly tormenting call of a passing cyclist that sounds something a little bit more like, “You’re a weiner, Remus!” to his ears. Because if there is one thing Remus hates... One thing in the_ fucking _world he cannot cope with... It’s being passed on his bike._

_All things considered, Remus would log himself as a pretty even-keeled guy. Assigned a high-profile work deliverable at the last minute? No feathers ruffled — he’s got it together. He thrives on the high pressure. Circling the Trader Joe’s parking lot in search of an elusive spot at 12pm on a Sunday? Others might be miffed, but he’s got a podcast on anyway and there’s no need to sweat the small stuff, in Remus’ book. Called Remu by a hostess on the most disappointing day of his life to-date? Hey, at least it’s a good story._

_But being passed on his bike? No. Out of the fucking question._

_The full-bodied demonic possession of competitive spirit takes him over, and his vision is now locked and loaded on his target decked out in neon green spandex._

_Remus speeds up and looks back a few seconds later to see that Sirius hasn’t picked up his pace yet. Maybe he just needs a little motivation to break past that barrier, which Coach Remus is more than poised to provide. “C’mon Sirius, we can go a little faster,” he calls back to Sirius, only a micron of impatience in his voice, which Remus thinks is pretty reasonable — the man has a sub four minute Fran time, for Christ’s sake, and this is a flat road — as the lean figure ahead of them advances farther ahead._

_Sirius’ thumbs-up kicks Remus into high gear. He picks up the pace again in single-minded determination. Victory will be so sweet. But barely a minute later as they’re entering a climb, his attention is diverted by the recognizable sound of Sirius’ heart rate monitor logging at max._

_“Honestly?” Remus mutters to himself. They’re approaching a downhill stretch just ahead, so he pushes forward to the top of the hill to the tune of the frantic beeping that he tries to ignore. And it’s becoming faster now. Louder. As they begin the descent, he coasts for a moment and calls back, “You good?”, hearing a “Yep!” in response, just as the monitor quiets down again._

_The chilled air is whipping around Remus’ body as he accelerates down the slope, and he thinks again — as he always does on his rides — that this feeling has got to be the greatest high in the world. Remus has lifted off the seat and curled his body around the handle bars to make himself more aerodynamic, feeling one with the bike as his acceleration picks up with even greater intensity. He’s closing the gap now, the green man is inching closer and closer, and Remus’ competitive zeal builds to an apex from which there is no going back. He returns to the seat and pushes their speed now as they exit the decline onto flat road, eyes zoned in like laser beams on his rival, until—_

_“What?!” He throws an incredulous look over his shoulder now, not even attempting to hold back his frustration at this point as the monitor goes off again. How naive, how ridiculous it was in hindsight for Remus to believe he could enjoy a moderate, laid-back ride, he broods internally, imagining all the ground that cyclist is gaining with each passing second. And his aggravation certainly isn’t helped by the fact that the godforsaken contraption couldn’t simply just alert Sirius once about his heart rate and let it be. No, instead, the distracting beeping sounds are cattle prods against Remus’ brain now, torturous noises that increasingly to Remus sound like some cross between nails on a chalkboard and a room full of whining toddlers. The alert continues without pause, and he’s looking down at his own wrist with an unconcealed growl as the green jersey disappears over a hill now. “Sirius, how?!” He calls out, not looking back this time but slowing down to let Sirius catch up, “I’m only at 70 percent!”_

_“Yeah,” Sirius laughs from behind as he approaches, his voice wavering between a place of humor and also one of being very beaten down, if Remus had been in the mental state to notice such nuances. He sidles up to Remus and sputters out, “You know! It must be broken! You just—”, Sirius coughs, because he in fact cannot breathe, “You go ahead without me! I’ll be fine,” followed by two ragged inhales and exhales. “Yeah yeah, don’t worry about little old me.”_

_Remus is only half paying attention now, if that, because he’s had to slow down to have an actual conversation with Sirius, and it’s haunting him that he’s losing even more time, and the green man is jeering at him, he just knows it._

“Yooooooouuu’re a weiner, Remus!”

_“Can’t you mute that thing?” He tosses out distractedly as he peers out with fierce intensity at the space growing between him and the enemy, and then, pulling his gaze over to Sirius who is hunched over the handlebars now, “But wait, you don’t know the way home.”_

_A wave of his hand. “Nah, not a problem,” Sirius puts out, his voice approximately one octave higher than usual, posture still resembling a noodle. “Death is less certain with this option, even if I do get lost.”_

_And that confirmation, although troubling in its implication about Sirius’ physical state, is enough for Remus at the moment, who mumble-shouts a couple of directions about a right at the fork, and then the left at the old schoolhouse, before pushing a headphone into his right ear and taking off like a bat out of hell to catch that cyclist — because how dare he think he could out-cycle Remus John Lupin on his own turf. This is_ his _town._

_*****_

“Have I been on this ski lift before?” Remus asks as he looks ahead, having followed Sirius’ lead to a lift he is almost certain is new to him. He would have remembered, for the lift looks ancient compared to the others, and is much smaller, only seating two people per chair. 

“I don’t think so,” Sirius turns his head to answer, a soft smile on his face. “It’s called the Bar-UE. The oldest and most beloved lift on the mountain.” Sirius takes a pensive look around and sighs a whimsical sound, lifting his arm to rest it on the top of the bench behind Remus’ head. “The Bar-UE is for lovers.”

Remus laughs a soft breath through his nose. “Huh?”

“That’s the saying — it’s a famous lift. They could have replaced it with a newer, more state-of-the-art one, but it’s beloved because it’s been around since the 70s.” He pauses to look around, then points his ski pole at a point further down the mountain. “We probably took the faster Storm Peak Express to the top last time. James hates the Bar-UE, too restless for it. Plus, he’s not a romantic like we are.”

Remus lets out a hum of acknowledgement, using this moment to take Sirius in because he feels an ache to do it. Sirius really is at the height of his happiness when they are out in the mountains together — on skis as opposed to wheels — and even given what has transpired, Remus feels appreciative for it. 

*****

_And Remus does indeed catch the man who passed them. A worthy opponent for sure, but not quite at his own caliber of athletic performance when fueled by that special type of resentment, competition, and endorphin high that morphs him into some sort of cyclist Mr. Hyde._ _Not to mention Coolio’s_ Gansta’s Paradise _, which, played on repeat as Remus is prone to do, honestly should have disqualified him for using performance enhancing drugs._ _And with that epic track going, it hadn’t taken much time to triumphantly pass green man, calling out a valiant “on YOUR left!” as he did._

Fool, I'm the kinda G the little homies wanna be like  
On my knees in the night, sayin' prayers in the streetlight

_The satisfaction of whizzing by his adversary was immeasurable. He stayed ahead of him for at least three miles before the throes of possession subsided and he came to, suddenly realizing that he did indeed come out on this ride with his lovely boyfriend and he should turn around to rejoin him._

Power and the money, money and the power  
Minute after minute, hour after hour

_And it has been a great little detour, really. The sun and wind against his face, the thrill of the chase, and the knowledge that he is, indeed, the best cyclist on the road — perhaps the entire state — today. The burn in his legs has settled down, leaving them feeling warm and comfortable and accomplished as he coasts back along the route, waiting to find Sirius any minute now. Because if he had to estimate, Sirius must have made at least four to five miles’ progress in the time that Remus was away crushing the competition into oblivion._

Been spendin' most their lives livin' in the gangsta's paradise

_But then he begins to get worried. A bit of panic creeps into his body to join the adrenaline surge from a job well done. That apprehensive, tingling feeling starts in his arms and begins to spread throughout his entire body the longer he rides without seeing Sirius donned in his black helmet and red jersey (which is delightfully a little tight on him, given it was borrowed from Remus, and Remus is ready to see that sweet sweet sight again after his triumphant slaughter)._

_He pushes a little faster for the next mile._

_And another mile. He’d ripped out the headphone a minute earlier, for he can barely embody the fantastic tune at this point. He perks up when he spots a pop of color, but it’s just a fire hydrant._

_And another mile faster still, until he lets out a true sigh of relief to finally see a red human figure in the distance, probably only 2-3 miles from where Remus left him. A very sad red human figure, upon deeper inspection. He’s moving slowly, incredibly slowly, so slowly, and Remus cannot help but marvel at the particular kind of talent it must take to ride a bike at that pace without tipping over._

_Remus gets closer now, narrowing the space between them, and oh — Sirius isn’t riding the bike any longer. He’s walking, walking through the valley of the shadow death. He’s walking and carting the bike along next to him._

_Sirius makes a sweeping gesture of his hand as Remus glides up and past him. “Great day for a walk,” he exclaims, and it would be impossible for Remus not to notice how demolished his voice sounds. “Did you catch him?”_

_Remus slows himself down, clipping his right foot out and placing it on the ground as Sirius approaches from about ten feet away now. “Of course I did,” Remus can’t help but proclaim with absolute pride, for he is the conquering hero, but he’s watching Sirius with vague concern. Sirius gives him a flacid thumbs up. Then a moment later, “Are you okay?”_

_“Oh, me?” Sirius laughs for a second before it quickly morphs into a hacking cough. Remus notices during Sirius’ last couple of steps that he isn’t walking normally. More of a waddle, but hey, bike shoes can be weird like that sometimes... “Oh, I’m fantastic. Exactly what I needed. What a dream,” Sirius goes on, speaking with noticeable effort. Then, “We’re almost done right?”_

_A blink. Remus licks his lips and can taste the sweat and dirt that has accumulated on his skin over the last hour of exertion. There is some small gnawing feeling growing inside of him, something akin to guilt, as he considers how to deliver this most unfortunate news to the face he adores most in the world, which right now looks like it’s spent five days trudging across the Sahara in July._

_Remus unzips the side pocket of his cycling shirt as Sirius reaches him. “We still have 18 miles left,” he says, then pulls a stick of chapstick out and hands it slowly to Sirius._

_Another cough from his beloved, followed by a long cross between a sigh and a groan. Sirius stops walking completely, and Remus watches as he uses a significant amount of effort to hike one leg up and over his bike frame. “Oh, is — is that all?” he answers brightly as he uncaps the chapstick, but Remus knows the sunny disposition is just a ruse. Afterall, he’s not a complete moron. And he begins to wonder apprehensively at what point Sirius will actually break. “I just,” he starts a little muffled as he circles the chapstick around his lips haphazardly, “really can’t wait,” he tacks on. He tosses it back to Remus and sighs again, wincing sharply after clipping back into the pedals and sitting back on the seat now. “So are my balls supposed to feel like they’ve been crushed in a trash compactor?” he adds, starting to move now, tone still faux-chipper as he shoots Remus a timid smile._

_Remus clips in and follows behind. “You get used to it,” he calls ahead, scrunching his nose._

_A high pitched hum from Sirius. A few more rotations and then, sounding as though his voice is caught in his throat, “Yeah I don’t think it’s going to work like that for me.”_

_And maybe, just maybe, Remus is beginning to consider that he miscalculated the merits of a 42 miler._

_*****_

The Bar-UE certainly is an _experience_ , and probably one he needed to have in order to become a true regular at this particular ski resort. And for an avid cyclist, he really has come a long way toward embracing the ‘ski life.’ But Sirius certainly made it easy for him from the beginning, allowing him to acclimate to the easier runs before introducing him to the more challenging blues. Always patient, happy to spend time on runs more aligned to Remus’ skill rather than to go off on his own to enjoy the blacks. Sirius had always been very considerate regarding Remus’ comfort level on the mountain, from the very beginning. He never led Remus to fear that he might find himself stranded at the top of a black diamond he wasn’t ready for, with a “the only way down is just to ski it, lol” — his own personal nightmare.

No, Remus trusted Sirius’ ski guidance completely. So as they move slowly, ever so slowly, up to the top of the mountain to reach the backside, Remus trusts that this will be another fun experience that will teach him more about the terrain and make him a better skier overall. 

Sirius returns his free hand softly to Remus’ knee, pulling him out of his thoughts, and asks, “Are you having a better time today?”

Remus gives him a head tilt and half a smile. “Considering I have two poles today and am not skiing up a utility trail by myself, I’d say that yeah, I’m having a better time.” Pause. “It would be difficult not to.”

Sirius is holding his two poles in his right hand and gives his ski an absent knock, and Remus watches the snow fall off and down into the land below. Sirius blows out an exhale. “Rem, I’m sorry,” he states again, simply, matter-of-factly. Which, as Remus knows by now, is indeed his most sincere form of communication. There’s a clear undercurrent of remorse to his voice like the night prior.

Remus gives him a once over, and his heart actually lurches for a moment before he places his own gloved hand over Sirius’. “I know,” Remus answers. He had screamed about it, he had felt what he needed to, and he had reached the conclusion that he would never completely understand why something so stupid just had to happen to him. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Sirius continues in the same tone, looking ahead now as the chairlift progresses at the romantic pace of a tortoise towards their destination. “I don’t know what to do to bring you back to me. To make things normal again.”

It wasn’t often that Sirius found himself without a solution to a problem, so it was also not surprising that it seemed to cause him so much turmoil. He was in unchartered territory, and therefore, Remus found that he actually was as well. 

Remus lays his helmeted head on Sirius’ shoulder for a moment, hoping that it offers at least a bit of wordless reassurance. He looks up towards Sirius’ face to find two bright eyes that reflect the metallic finish of the lift looking back at him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says.

*****

_The last 18 miles of the bike ride feel like the slowest miles Remus has ever traveled, including by canoe at 5th grade summer camp when he was rowing with a broken arm and his partner was eating a ham sandwich. By the last seven, Remus looks down at his speedometer to see that they are moving at 12 mph on a flat road and he honestly doesn’t know when they will ever get home. There is that reactive part of him that feels pissy about it, a bitter part of him that hates being constrained to the pace of a snail when he has the power of a lion in his quads, but he keeps as steady as he can, only feeling mild irritation at the repetitive sound of the heart rate monitor going crazy behind him anytime he tries to remotely push their speed._

_Finally making it back to Remus’ house has been the relief of the century — no exaggeration. And as soon as they step through Remus’ garage door and into the cool house, he feels an immediate uptick in his mood._

_It wasn’t the ideal ride, to say the least, he reflects as he heads over to the coffeemaker to start a fresh afternoon pot for them. He personally would have benefited far more from a solo excursion where he could really push his heart rate on those hills, but it’s only Saturday, and there will be an opportunity to remedy that tomorrow. However, the least ideal part of the whole scenario is that Sirius certainly didn’t enjoy the outing like Remus had intended. Although, Remus does think it’s good to cross-train every once in a while, so Sirius will have gotten_ something _positive out of the whole long-form cardio experience, surely. He would surely join Sirius at his gym one of these days and experience his own version of complete physical ineptitude via butterfly pull-ups; or Sirius’ speciality, the handstand push-up._

_He shudders at the very notion._

_“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” Sirius chimes in, breaking Remus out of his errant thoughts. And as the other man limps in through the doorway, Remus notes that… He. Looks. Rough._

_“Ah, that’s the potassium deficiency talking — here, eat a banana, and don’t have any coffee, focus on water,” Remus recommends, pulling one off his handy banana holder (a staple of every cyclist anywhere) and handing it to Sirius._

_Another cough. “Alright,” Sirius manages to scratch out as he begins fumbling with the peel of Remus’ magical elixir fruit. Remus grabs him a glass of water and slides it, along with an electrolyte packet, across the counter to him._

_Remus watches Sirius’ currently uncoordinated hands eventually get the peel apart after some effort. And with that taken care of, Remus says, “Well, I need to shower, I’m disgusting,” absolutely unable to stand a minute longer in his own sweat and grime. Sirius looks back at him, deadness radiating from his eyes as he chews slowly, robotically, as if his soul was no longer inhabiting his body. And the guilty feeling grows a little more. “You can take my shower — I’ll use the guest one. You probably really want to wash off.” Sirius groans, leaning his elbows on the countertop, which Remus interprets as a ‘yes’._

_*****_

Remus leans over the edge of the lift to get a good look at the daunting view below, and the thought crosses his mind for the 15th time that day that he might actually never get tired of this place.

The Bar-UE does, in fact, finally reach the top, and Remus somehow feels lighter as soon as they exit the lift. It’s colder this far up, windier in a way that chills to the bone, but well worth it for the views they get in exchange. Not only is the altitude actually higher than the top of a normal lift, but it physically _feels_ so much higher, like they might catapult straight down into the valley below with any wrong move. 

It’s beautiful and unsettling and takes Remus’ breath away.

“C’mon, lover,” Sirius says right before Remus feels a firm slap to his ass. “Let’s go powder.”

*****

_Remus emerges from the guest room shower to the sound of retching coming from his bathroom, and sure enough, he’s wide eyed as he books it over and finds a clean and boxer-clad Sirius hunched over his toilet._

_They look at each other silently for a moment. “I’m dying,” Sirius declares._

_Remus moves quickly, squatting down low enough to rub Sirius’ bare back as he throws up every bit of banana he had eaten, and an admirable amount of water. “Oh babe…” he whispers with sympathy, placing a kiss on Sirius’ shoulder as he embarks on another round of gagging. “You’re going to be okay.”_

_A sob. And then Sirius lays his elbow against the toilet seat and cradles his face in his hand, taking long deep breaths as his body calms down. Remus breathes with him, probably around 60 times before Sirius opens his eyes. “Everything hurts.”_

_Remus puts on a pout and tucks some stray wet hair behind Sirius’ ear. “Do you want to lay down?”_

_“I need to go to the kitchen first,” he answers as he lifts his head off of the seat with some effort, flushes the toilet, and begins to press himself back up to standing position on unsteady feet. “Would you find a movie or something?”_

_“Of course I will,” Remus says in response, and a true pang of guilt zaps through his body as he watches Sirius, pathetic and absolutely helpless, limp out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen._

_He had, in official terms, really fucked up. Poor judgment on Remus’ part. It had been so long since he started cycling that he forgot what it was like to be a beginner at the sport. But he knows he can make it up to Sirius— a good movie, takeout from his favorite Mexican place when his stomach settles down, a blow job or two or twenty. He’ll be back-to-new in no time._

_He’d start with the movie._

_Remus and Sirius have vastly different tastes in films and television, which is representative of their preferences as a whole, Remus had come to figure out within the last two years. When Remus had first asked, “How can you watch this trash when you’re so smart?” Sirius had answered, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, “I watch this trash_ because _I’m so smart.” He then went on to elaborate about the 500 pages of case law a week he had to read in law school, how it seemed insurmountable until balanced with his mindless television savior, the Jersey Shore._

_And really, that was an explanation Remus could buy. Until he spent eight plus hours of his day reading dry case law about the UCC’s regulation of the sale of goods (over five hundred dollars, of course, otherwise good old contract law reigns supreme) or conducting even dryer legal research about proper venue, well… maybe he would tone down the judgment._

_So given that Sirius had been working like a hound for the last two months, and given that Remus had just run him into the ground with an ill-fated bike ride that was perhaps 41 miles too long… he pulls up Sirius’ profile on his Hulu account and gets to work. Sirius would want a comedy, he probably needs a comedy, and thanks to Judd Apatow, Remus would be able to find one they could both enjoy._

_He hears the ice tray being jostled around in the kitchen as he presses play on the movie, anticipating the bright smile that would gloss over Sirius’ face when he reenters the bedroom, right before serenading Remus with Aldous Snow’s “Inside of You,” as he so often did. Unfortunately in public most of the time._

_He hears something drop on the floor with a sharp thud and an odd crunching noise, followed by a low groan. And although Remus has never heard such a sound come from Sirius Black before, he recognizes it all the same: Defeat. Resignation. “Babe? Do you need help in there?” he calls out as he cranes his neck to look out the doorway, a useless movement as the kitchen is beyond view, but he does it all the same._

_Sirius comes into view about fifteen seconds later, limping down the hallway, semi-wet hair sticking up every which way, hunched forward. And, giving Remus the greatest surprise of all, his beloved bag of Trader Joe’s frozen mangoes is clutched in Sirius’ hand, being held against his crotch as he shuffles into the room._

_“I need to lie down but I’m in too much pain to sleep,” Sirius mumbles, barely sparing Remus a glance as he ambles slowly, oh so slowly, towards the bed. Remus watches in confusion, and even a bit of awe, as his boyfriend eventually maneuvers himself onto his back against the pillows. He rests his feet on the bed, knees bent, before weaving the makeshift ice pack back between his legs, letting out a wince once he has Remus’ bag of mangoes advantageously pressed against his balls._

_*****_

There is an undeniable beauty to watching Sirius ski, as though he somehow belongs in the sea of snow and towering, ancient aspen trees. The fluidity of his movements and the finesse he’d sculpted over years of dedication to the sport somehow add to the natural splendor of the scene, like it only existed in the first place for him to inhabit. 

Remus lags behind a bit to appreciate the sight, because Sirius really does possess a skill level that garners full, unadulterated appreciation. He’d always been naturally gifted, sure, but Remus had come to learn how obsessive he became once he found something he loved, regarding it implicitly as deserving of his time and deepest care and attention. He regards the things he loves with a unique sanctity, a pure devotion, Remus’ wandering mind notes as Sirius leans his body into a tight bend. While there’s no pomp and circumstance to it, Sirius’ dedication toward what he finds meaningful in his life is easy to spot, although often masked by his thoroughly extroverted, cavalier, goofy exterior — if one merely takes the time to notice it. 

And Remus feels inspired by Sirius. He increases his speed before veering off to follow him into the untouched frontier of powdery snow banks behind the treeline. 

*****

_“Babe,” Remus whispers against the shell of Sirius’ ear a couple hours after he’s laid down and gotten some quality rest in. He isn’t asleep, but the movie is over now. So the time has come for Remus to go for his ultimate mea kulpa._

_Sirius lays on his right side, only slightly curled in on himself as Remus’ hand goes for long strokes down the length of his arm. Remus can’t help but linger once he reaches the curve of lean, dense biceps, then takes a moment to massage gently at the network of taught muscles around his shoulder, and Sirius lets out a contented sound that makes Remus smile. Remus’ lips land on the base of his neck, forging a path along his shoulder blade as his hand snakes underneath Sirius and wraps around his bare waist. Sirius, for the first time in Remus’ experience, lays still through it all instead of eagerly reciprocating — until the reins would eventually be taken out of Remus’ hands and into his own. That’s the normal chain of events, but this is more than alright. Remus will gladly put the work in, because once he gets the engine started, he knows there’s no stopping it._

_Lips slide from his neck to the top of his spine, drinking in the long planes of Sirius’ broad back, as his fingers begin to skim along the waistband of his boxers, smiling against Sirius’ skin when he feels the sharp twitch of the other man’s lower stomach. Remus takes that as the green light he needs before pushing his hand down further without any hesita—_

_“Oh, FUCK. ME.”_

_Sirius’ voice bellows out a cry — and if it weren’t for the very perceptible misery implicit in the noise, Remus would be stunned he was hearing such a passionate reaction so soon — as his body curls in on itself. “OH WHAT THE FUCK,” he yells out before Remus feels a very swift and very hard kick again his shin._

_But Sirius doesn’t even acknowledge the cry of surprise and pain from Remus’ side of the bed. Probably doesn’t even register the sound as his entire body shudders in the fetal position, as he grabs at his leg while moaning like a banshee._

_“My calf, Remus!” Sirius shrieks, “My_ fucking _calves. There’s a fire in there. A fire and it is fucking SQUEEZING—” his voice trails off into a full-on masculine scream for a solid ten seconds until the charlie horse cramp finally subsides and his body goes limp._

_So sex of any sort is officially out of the question._

_Twenty silent seconds pass, apart from Sirius’ whimpers, and Remus eyes him like he’s dealing with a rabid wolf before he hesitantly offers, “Do you want to try another banana?”_

_“No.”_

_Remus drums his fingers on the comforter. “I’m going to get you some potassium tablets then, you’re less likely to throw them up and they’ll make sure your body doesn’t cramp up again,” Remus says without waiting for a response as he rolls off the bed and pads down to the kitchen._

_Remus does a double take at the ziplock sack of melted ice that Sirius must have abandoned on the floor earlier. And that reminds him that the mangoes are bound to be mushy now, so he takes an extra moment to fix up a new one before getting what he came for._

_*****_

And there is something about powder-skiing through the trees that connects to Remus’ soul, delivering a similar feeling of flow that he has only ever felt during his bike rides. It’s freeing, and it’s relaxing, and most of all, there’s a purity to it that simply isn’t captured on the more populated runs. 

He takes a long cold breath as he appreciates the exhilaration of being here in this magical oasis of white. There’s an undeniable solace attached to it this time around too, without one James Potter screaming at him about, “Remus! The snow is up to my knees! I’m a floating torso!”

*****

_“Remus,” Sirius’ voice suddenly breathes out in a gasp, frantic and panicked, as though he has just emerged from two torturous minutes spent underwater. Sirius is lying on his side and facing the wall, the same position he has been in for the last hour after Remus had convinced him to swallow some potassium pills. Remus assumed he had fallen asleep, but now feels even worse to hear that he never did._

_Remus puts down the book he had been reading and shifts onto his right side, leaning in closer to Sirius and placing a hand on his bare shoulder. “Yeah, babe?”_

_“Remus,” he says again. Somber. Forlorn. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to have children anymore.”_

_Remus sets his lips on Sirius’ skin, deciding to bite back a question around whether that had ever been in the cards anyway, because hey, maybe he still had something to learn about his raven-haired litigator. Instead, he gives him a sympathetic hum, and then, “Don’t worry, I’ll be able to father enough children for the both of us.”_

_Silence, and because apparently the joke really doesn’t land, a single cry escapes from the back of Sirius’ throat. And did he just shiver? The guilt continues to build in Remus’ body and soul._

_“Babe, I’m joking,” he says, giving his shoulder a rub._

_“It’s not funny.”_

_Remus had been just a millisecond away from an apology, about to tell Sirius just how sorry he was for finding any humor in Sirius’ pain. But he is an honest man, and really, placating just doesn’t fit into their type of relationship dynamic. “It is kind of funny,” he offers from where his lips still rest against Sirius’ skin instead._

_A long pause._

_“You’re right.”_

*****

“You’re skiing even better than yesterday,” Sirius proclaims with feeling while taking a moment to catch his breath. “You don’t look timid at all, you’ve really gotten a handle on it.” Still holding a pole, he moves his hand in a gliding gesture back and forth in front of his face. “So smooth.”

Remus, also taking the opportunity to catch his breath, responds with, “It feels really effortless today. I’m just thinking less, letting my body feel it more, I suppose.” An exaggerated shrug. “I don’t know, it’s just happening.” 

Sirius lets out a thoughtful hum before turning back to Remus with a smile and raised eyebrows. “One O’Clock?”

A long breath. “I’m not ready.”

“Remus,” Sirius starts with deep conviction, “you are going to crush it.”

“Are you sure?” Remus checks.

He twists his pole into the ground and smiles. “Once again, when have I ever lied to you?” 

Remus nods and returns Sirius’ expression. “Okay.”

*****

_The Sunday after the ride had passed very strangely. Uncharacteristically, particularly for a person who finds it hard to sleep past 7am even if he tries, Sirius stayed in bed until noon after finally getting to sleep the night before with the aid of some painkillers. Well, the painkillers coupled with the fact that he had the entirety of Remus’ bed to himself. Remus had moved to the couch to allow Sirius the freedom to groan to his heart’s content, which was the least he could do, afterall._

_When Sirius finally leaves Remus’ house that afternoon, only after eating Remus’ entire cabinet, dairy-free ice cream stash, and the cold fajitas Remus ordered for him the night before (in that order), Remus figures he’ll be recovered in no time. Punchy and combative and the most competent person in every room he walks into._

_*****_

The run had been freshly groomed to perfection that morning at dawn, meticulously and like clockwork, as always. And by mid-morning, per usual, the pristine snow had been marked with the signs of traffic from a couple dozen skiers who had gotten to the slopes early before the crowds really started to arrive, some advanced and some… well, they probably should have stuck to the greens. 

The run called One O’Clock starts out deceptively simple, offering a mild slope just at the top that’s comparable to any other blue run on the mountain. Challenging, yes, but not intimidating or technically advanced. However, at about two-thirds of the way down, just when one least expects it, the run evens off and then plunges into a level of steepness that would have the average blue-run skier shaking in their boots.

It’s quiet. But Remus can faintly hear the sound of skis cutting sharply against snow from the runs nearby. But mostly, it’s very quiet. 

He and Sirius arrive at the top and pause, skis sitting in a parallel row of four. “So here we are,” Remus says, scanning the run and feeling a mild current of discomfort about what he’s just agreed to do. But there’s no going back now.

“Remember to lead with your hips,” Sirius says, then does a little sashay in demonstration. “That’s where the power is.”

“I’m sorry, wait, where is the power again?” Remus says, turning to face him full-on for a moment.

“Oh wouldn’t you like to know,” Sirius throws back, giving him a once-over, and Remus snorts. “Let’s go.”

Sirius takes off down the slope and Remus follows another few seconds behind to give him a wide berth, but at the speed Sirius is flying, the pause hadn’t really been necessary. He’s carving tight, narrow turns into the snow as he blazes halfway down the run in a matter of seconds. 

Remus is moving fairly confidently, taking wider and slower turns than his counterpart, but all in all he is handling himself well on what he knows to be the easier section of the run. He approaches Sirius who is waiting for him now at the brief plateau before the steep plunge, and he decides right then and there that there’s only one right way for him to ski down One O’Clock for the first time and finally put the shit part of this trip to rest.

Remus slows down and glides right past Sirius, whose expression is masked behind goggles, lifts his right arm to shoulder level, bends his knees an inch more, and delivers a picturesque middle-finger to him on the way by. And a second later, Remus drops the slow-act and torpedoes ahead to the steep second portion of the run, taking no prisoners as he doesn’t even pause to give the slope a second glance. He hears Sirius burst into laughter, followed by his own as he zooms down the slope feeling supremely accomplished and, in a sense, free. 

Their laughter reverberates through the trees, carrying all the way to nearby runs, and echoing off the mountain and into the surrounding valley below. 

*****

_And yet… on Monday, Remus didn’t hear much from Sirius beyond their routine ‘good morning’ text exchange. Sirius’ had come in later than his usual texts on trial days, given what Remus knew to be his special early morning preparation routine, which was unusual but no cause for concern — Sirius had some dirty deeds to be done dirt cheap, after all. And trial days were always hectic for Sirius, which Remus knew well. As soon as the man set foot in the courtroom, he was laser focused, his mind operating as a machine of logic and synthesis and pure sex appeal to win, win, win. So Remus wasn’t concerned by the lack of communication. Not one bit._

_Then noon rolled on by too. It was a little odd that he hadn’t gotten an update about how the trial was progressing, and realistically, how fucked that idiot Marcus, before they adjourned for lunch._

_And by 4:30, Remus is antsy, with a nagging feeling in his chest that he cannot seem to get rid of no matter how much work he gets done. It’s a familiar feeling, one he used to feel far more often before he met Sirius, but certainly never one that he felt in relation to him. So, with a slightly shaking hand, he pulls out his phone and sends a text._

**_Alright?_ **

_The text remains unread for a while, so Remus busies himself with sending out the last emails of the day before biking home from the office. And in all other senses, it has been a great, productive day at work. But there is something wrong. And Remus knows it before he opens up Sirius’ response — just that intuition in him that is unfortunately rarely wrong, especially about bad news._

**_I lost_ ** _, the first text read simply. And then,_ **_I fucked something up. And I lost to Marcus._ **

_Remus’ heart sinks as a million thoughts rush straight into his mind and engulf him. Most of them are related to just how badly he had managed to fuck up the most important case Sirius had prepared for since they started dating._

_His hands shake substantially now as he pushes the icon to call Sirius. He needs to know. He absolutely needs to know what happened for Sirius to lose to the attorney he ever-so-lovingly labels “my mortal enemy, Remus, the Ivan Drago to my Rocky Balboa.” But Remus is pretty sure he already knows. And instead of the ringtone of his outgoing call to Sirius, he hears Sirius’ groans from Saturday night echoing through his head instead with each ring._

_Another ring, and the image of Sirius in the fetal position emerges in his mind. Remus runs his free hand through his hair. “Shit,” he whispers._

_Another ring. Sirius prepping for months, going on and on about how satisfying it will be to shoot Marcus that effortless smirk when the foreman of the jury recites Sirius’ favorite word ever, “Guilty.”_

_Another one. Sirius hobbling in from the kitchen with frozen mangos held against his—_

_“Hi,” Sirius’ voice, with a hint of scratchiness to it, breaks him out of his thoughts._

_Remus opens his mouth about three times, much akin to a goldfish, without a single word coming out._

_“Remus?”_

_“Yeah, sorry,” he croaks. Pause. “What happened?”_

_Sirius takes a moment, and in his mind, Remus fully expects to be put off with a curt_ I really don’t want to talk about it, Cassius _. But instead, Sirius says, his voice far duller than usual and emitting an undercurrent of defeat Remus had never heard from him before in the context of his work, “Marcus trapped my key witness, and I should have objected, but I missed it. I missed a lot of things today. Totally ruined his credibility, and for something completely irrelevant. Everything I built, the timeline, the motive… everything was wiped out because I missed the objection.” Remus thinks he should say something, but his mind is blank and his throat feels dry. Sirius goes on, and Remus can tell by the muffled tone in the middle that he’s scrubbed a hand down his face, “And that’s just the most significant mistake. Made a few procedural errors too. It was a joke. I was a joke.”_

_Remus opens his mouth to immediately discount the sentiment, but then remembers a moment later just how bad of an impact that ride had on Sirius physically and mentally. He also realizes that his own credibility is shot in that moment too; Sirius probably doesn’t give a shit about what he has to say about it. And then, because Remus really doesn’t know what else to possibly say in this situation, “Are you okay?”_

_A long exhale. “It’s just my job, I guess,” he says oddly, but Remus knows that Sirius’ career is definitely not_ just a job _to him. No other words could be further from the truth. “I’ll be fine. I just need some time to get it out of my system.”_

 _Remus hears that for what it is and the sinking feeling takes over his senses. He already knows that it was the bike ride’s fault —_ his _fault, more accurately. So he answers Sirius quickly with, “Of course. Take all the time you need. I won’t bother you or anything,” before Sirius answers with something that Remus doesn’t actually comprehend, and then Remus, feeling the full weight of himself as a burden, gives him a, “Well I better let you go then.”_

_Sirius ends the call with his routine, “I love you.” Well, at least there’s that._

_It’s then Remus is reminded that finding distractions is difficult when one has a pit in his stomach the size of Moby Dick. And he’s also reminded of how long it has been since he last felt like this — years — and truly doesn’t appreciate the recurrence when everything had been going so well. Because damn, nothing has ever felt as bad as causing his beloved to screw up the trial that was so important to him._

_He thinks over and over about how he will ever be able to forgive himself. It dawns on him — as he fixes scrambled eggs for dinner, for he no longer deserves the elaborate grilled steak salad with tahini dressing he originally had planned, nor does he have the appetite for it anymore — that if he can’t forgive himself, there was no way Sirius could ever forgive him either. Not for something so important._

_The scrambled eggs end up in the trash._

_And the next couple of days crawl by slowly, painstakingly slowly, as Remus receives no indication from Sirius that he’s gotten over the horrible weekend and the resulting loss in court. There are a couple of texts in the morning, sure, even a few sprinkled throughout the evening, but Sirius has ceased initiating any phone calls. And by Thursday, it really, truly is too much for Remus to handle any longer._

**_I’m coming over tonight_ ** _, Remus texts Sirius at approximately 11am after sending an email to the Director of Product Engineering and incorrectly addressing it to Andrew instead of Aaron, a faux pas that will haunt him from now until death. This simply cannot continue._

 _Sirius texts back right away._ **_Great. I’ll be at boxing until 7:30, but you have your key._ **

_And that’s a win, Remus supposes, unable to ignore the abruptness of the text, but Remus hasn’t been barred from using his key. Sirius has plans to be at the boxing gym, which is another telltale sign of his frustration, but the fact that he will actually see Sirius later is enough to get him through the rest of the day. Enough for him to plan ahead about what he’ll pick up for dinner — Peruvian, because it’s next to that bakery with those snickerdoodles Sirius loves so much — so at least he’ll have something to contribute to Sirius’ well-being._

_Yeah, he thinks through a swallow. It’ll be fine. Hopefully._

_By 7:15pm, Remus makes his way through the front door and finds the familiarity of Sirius’ living room much needed as he crosses into the kitchen. He does a double take, eyes sweeping across the sparkling marble countertops, spotless island, and shiny stainless steel refrigerator. He’s mildly concerned, but also impressed by how sharp the place looks. Not that Sirius is usually messy; moreso_ untidy _, Remus would answer if asked. As he moves through the kitchen to preheat the oven to keep the food warm, he glances at the picture of the two of them Sirius has displayed on the refrigerator. And it’s not a picture Remus would have chosen to present — which is perhaps why it isn’t displayed in his house — because Remus cannot actually remember anything about the day it was taken. It’s not from any of their big milestones, nor one of the trips they had taken._

_It’s simply the two of them, a candid shot taken at some restaurant, probably by James. They’re sitting next to each other with a polyester red booth as the backdrop. Remus appears to be telling a story to Lily who is sitting just out of the shot, likely something embarrassing about Sirius; his hands are raised animatedly in the middle of a gesture, and Sirius’ head is thrown back a bit in amusement, with his eyes gleefully locked on Remus._

_Remus finds himself reconsidering how much he actually does like the picture._

_The sound of the garage door opening reverberates through the room half an hour later, and Remus leans against the kitchen counter as he waits for Sirius to come inside. He gives a quick couple of shoulder rolls to loosen up the tension in his body, just before the door swings open._

_Sirius comes inside lugging his gym bag, and there are tendrils of sweaty hair sticking to his temples. His body language comes off immediately as both exhausted and pissed, which is generally what Remus had been expecting. Sirius soon makes eye contact with Remus and gives him a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but at least he’s trying, Remus thinks. “Hey,” Sirius says as he pulls the door shut and locks it._

_“Hey,” Remus reciprocates as casually as he can. And it’s hard. “I brought dinner and snickerdoodles. Hope you’re hungry.”_

_Sirius hums. “Great,” he says simply, which is so much less of a reaction than Remus had been gunning for. “I just need to shower first,” he adds, nodding toward the bathroom and starting to head that way._

_“Can you…” Remus starts in, then takes a quick steadying breath and goes for the gold. “Can you wait a second?”_

_Sirius pauses and raises his eyebrows. “Sure. What’s wrong?”_

_Pause. Pause. Pau— “I’m just so sorry,” Remus finally speaks the words like vomit, though maintaining his somber tone; and once he starts, the build-up of four days is impossible to contain any longer. “I will never stop being sorry for screwing up something that I know was so important to you. I know how much that case meant, and I am not sure that I will ever get over having ruined it. So I understand why you’re mad at me. I mean, I’m furious at mys—”_

_“What?” Sirius cuts him off forcefully, his eyebrows knitted together in an expression that is easy for Remus to read as confusion. “I’m not mad at you,” he articulates as though it’s the most obvious fact in the world, as though Remus’ initial proclamation stating the opposite had been outright offensive._

_A minor staredown takes place between the two of them, Sirius firm in what he said while Remus looks like a startled deer in the headlights._

_Seconds pass, maybe a minute. Remus digs his thumbnail into his opposite hand._

_“I’m fucking pissed at the situation,” Sirius expounds when he realizes that Remus has lost the ability to form words. “I’m pissed that Marcus pulled one over on me. I’m fucking furious that I lost a trial that should have been an easy win for how much evidence we had on the guy.”_ A long breath, a determined glint in his eye. _“But I am_ not _mad at you.”_

_The sky is blue. Moby Dick is a giant whale. Sirius is not mad at Remus._

_And that’s enough to knock Remus off-kilter. He honestly needs a couple of seconds to rearrange his thought process at a subatomic level. He blinks. Sirius blinks back._

_Remus sucks in a bit of air, because now it is his turn. “But I fucked you up on that bike ride.”_

_Sirius’ brows raise again and his head tilts forward just a bit. “You didn’t mean to.”_

_And that…_

_Well that is correct. Though Remus would argue that his intention for the bike ride doesn’t hold nearly the weight that Sirius has seemed to assign it, when the actual results are so glaringly obvious._

_He cannot help but offer more evidence. “But it still ruined your trial. I was thoughtless and I didn’t listen when you were worried that it would be too long. I_ had _to go the full 42 miles and pick up the pace to pass that guy while you were miserable the entire time,” Remus argues against himself as Sirius squints at him. And once he gets going, there’s no stopping. “Your heart rate monitor!” he throws out maniacally as he recollects his complacency with a grimace, covering his face with his hands at the sheer selfishness he had exhibited to catch a person who didn’t even matter at the expense of the one person who mattered the most. “You could barely walk right, and I didn’t even give it a second thought. I just figured it would be a hard workout and that was it.”_

_Sirius’ hip is leaning against the counter now, the picture of evenness in his black athletic shorts and dark gray — and completely sweat-drenched — shirt. Remus can smell his deodorant. Spruce. Sirius shrugs. “It’s not a difficult formula, Remus. I’d rather lose cases sometimes if it means I get to have you in my life. I much prefer it to the alternative,” he articulates evenly while he reaches for an overhead cupboard, looking back at Remus as he pulls a shaker bottle out and fills it with tap water. Remus watches Sirius navigate around the kitchen to the pantry cabinet, now wearing an expression of confusion of his own as he hangs on every word. “Plus,” Sirius adds with a small shrug as he finishes dumping protein powder into the bottle, “those are things that I love about you. You just made a mistake,” and then he starts nonchalantly shaking up the bottle, like there’s absolutely nothing to see here, folks. “I’m sure it’s not going to happen again.”_

_And Remus… wants to cry. Right in front of his boyfriend who is just casually mixing a strawberry protein drink and_ is not mad at him. _Really and truly, the tears could flow from his eyes and fill up a kiddie pool on Sirius’ hardwood floor. He’s thrown out of sorts, and he fully recognizes the degree to which he never knows what to expect from the other man. If this is how Sirius approaches someone he loves — with this much easy thought, analysis, and care — then Remus feels utter sympathy for his opponents._

_Sirius takes a couple of gulps and a long swig to finish it off, shirt lifting up in the process. Remus’ eyes magnetize to the muscle of Sirius’ hip, and all he can think about now is how badly he wants to get this pure, thoughtful human, who just made the ultimate proclamation of love, into that bedroom and be pounded into next week. But also… calm down, Remus — Saturday was still fairly recent and you almost killed him._

_Remus coughs as Sirius runs the back of his hand over his mouth. “Are you… Are you still injured?” He asks with careful interest, eyes flickering down and then back up to Sirius’ face which is looking at him expectantly._

_“Well, my testicles and calves seem to have recovered,” Sirius answers, mind reader extraordinaire, apparently. “But my ego might need a little longer to heal.”_

_Remus swallows, reaching out to take Sirius by the wrist because by this point, he really cannot help himself. At all. “I can fix that part,” he says low, pulling Sirius closer so that their foreheads are almost touching._

_Sirius closes his eyes and pulls Remus’ hips against his, and Remus thanks God for inventing basketball shorts. A few moments pass, then he shakes his head lightly and gives a sharp exhale, as Remus watches him intently. “He was,” Sirius says with the quality of a groan, “wearing a fucking_ bow tie _.”_

_Remus holds back a burst of laughter and the corner of Sirius’ mouth lifts up in amusement as he opens his eyes again. “Well then who’s the real winner, Sirius,” Remus says, giving him a look._

_Sirius laughs and leans in to plant a kiss on Remus’ lips that feeds his soul, then lets Remus lead them in the direction of the shower._

*****

Remus looks up at the run as soon as he reaches the bottom, spotting Sirius right away for how well he knows the other man’s form. Clean, tight turns with that expert-level, lithe smoothness are difficult to miss, and it’s hard to take his eyes off of Sirius as he makes a clear path to meet him. Remus drifting up from the ski lift.

As Huey Lewis & the News drifts over from the speakers near the ski lift, Sirius flies straight at him before making a quick stop only a couple of inches from Remus’ own skis. But Remus had learned quickly not to be concerned about that. And now that Sirius is right in front of Remus’ face, Remus can see that the man is beaming. True unadulterated joy is radiating from his smile, and it’s absolutely infectious. Remus cannot help but laugh in return. 

“You were amazing,” Sirius breathes out excitedly, twisting his body around quickly to use his poles to latch out of his skis. “You were the best skier on that run today, no doubt; it was incredible to watch.” His voice is truly _thrilled_ as he steps out of the skis, and Remus isn’t sure he’s heard such enthusiasm since Sirius and Peter’s debate about whether tropical or winter vacations were better. Sirius’ left hand flutters at Remus. “Get out of your skis.”

“What? Wh—”

“Just get out of your skis,” Sirius laughs out with the utmost impatience. Remus sees the man in the cow onesie expertly glide towards the ski lift from the corner of his eye. And something is contagious about Sirius’ joy, because Remus laughs out an “alright” before twisting around to clip out of them. 

And he lets out a not-so-charming _uuuuumph_ the second he does, finding himself being swiftly picked up and thrown over Sirius’ shoulder, somehow with a bit of grace. 

But there is no way the move could actually be considered graceful, not when Sirius begins _jogging_ with Remus’ lanky frame dangling over his shoulder — and for the second time that trip, Remus can not, for the life of him, understand how this is happening. 

“I AM SIX FOOT THREE, SIRIUS,” Remus somehow manages to gasp out, his stomach being pressed into Sirius’ shoulder and making it a bit more challenging than normal to breathe. A purposeful moment of silence to catch his breath before, “AND HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU CARRYING ME _IN SKI BOOTS?!”_ It is extremely confusing, because from this vantage point, as Remus finds himself moving in a shockingly straight line at reasonably high speed, it is confirmed: Sirius truly does run like gazelle in ski boots. Put him on a bike? He’s incompetent. Ski boots? Well, now he can fly. 

It’s not the first time Sirius has thrown Remus over his shoulder without preamble and carried him some short distance away — usually to a bed or a couch, or that one time it had been the back seat of his Range Rover — but it’s certainly the first time that snow has been involved. Twenty to thirty feet from their abandoned skis finds them off the high-traffic ski path and in deeper snow, surrounded by trees; it’s where Sirius finally sets Remus down. And it’s ridiculous, the entire thing, completely laughable and silly and out of some movie starring Matthew McConaughey that would make Remus’ eyes roll a billion times over. 

But it doesn’t make his eyes roll now.

Sirius looks so happy, tucked away with Remus in the aspens and pines as they remove their goggles and helmets, the sun still hidden by clouds above them; he looks hopeful as he catches Remus’ eye, and despite the 24 degree temperature, Remus feels nothing but the deepest warmth. Huey Lewis and the News are still audible, their catchy tune only slightly dampened by the increased distance. This week had shown him the only time he’d even witnessed Sirius flub something so uncharacteristically, but it wasn’t at all what came to Remus’ mind as Sirius smiled and grabbed him by the wrist to pull him closer. 

_It’s not a difficult formula, Remus._

Sirius’ smile widens exponentially when Remus grabs his jacket and takes the initiative to pull him even closer. The tension between them breaks and Remus knows they both feel the final thaw that started with Remus’ middle finger and finished right at this moment. There’s that glint in Sirius’ eye that Remus has seen before, but never fully appreciated until this moment. A vulnerability, maybe. A sweetness and a depth of care that has _never_ applied to the rest of the world, but applied to Remus from Day One, no matter Remus’ mistakes nor the consequences they held.

Remus kisses him, lips cold and soft, but holding more words than he could possibly express any other way. His hand moves from Sirius’ black jacket and up to his neck, and it is more than Sirius had been expecting in that moment, based on the pleasantly surprised laugh that escaped his lips.

_I’d rather lose cases sometimes if it means I get to have you in my life._

The concept is so simple. And Sirius had simply tossed it out, stating what was true before moving on with his life and never giving it a second thought. Never bringing it up again, saving Remus from bearing the burden of causing his most major failure. 

Well, the most major failure until the day prior, that is. 

And Remus is sure that even accounting for all of disappointment, the embarrassment, the dashed dreams of delivering a proposal for the ages, the good ol’ one-pole-stuck-on-a-utility-trail rage he had felt… Well, Remus knows just how much worse it is being on the other side of a mistake that ends up hurting the person he loves above everybody else. 

And how excruciating it is to be the direct cause of it. 

“Babe,” Remus breathes out. “Do you remember when I took you on the Bike Ride Disaster? And ruined that big case for you?”

“Babe,” Sirius shudders as he recalls the incident. “My balls actually throb at the very mention. We will never forget.”

Remus nods, and then follows up with, “Why don’t you ever bring it up?” 

Sirius breathes out a laugh and his eyebrows furrow for a moment as he regards Remus. “Because it doesn’t matter. _I know_ you.” He shrugs, as if it is just that simple. Which, Remus guesses it really is for Sirius. “And besides, I’d never want to make you feel bad about it.”

Remus breathes out a laugh of his own into Sirius’ neck, taking a solid ten seconds to exist in a space of _this is ridiculous._ Sirius doesn’t know what Remus is doing, because Sirius is oblivious in his own way while also holding an inner wisdom that Remus has never fully appreciated until today, when the universe forced him to put the puzzle pieces of Sirius’ soul together in a new configuration. An actual idiot who is simultaneously paces ahead of Remus without even realizing it. 

Apparently he has given Sirius a bit more confidence, because the next thing he knows, Remus is being pulled down onto the ground, onto the snow, and right on top of Sirius. They are at a well-populated ski resort, surrounded by thousands of people vacationing, but somehow Sirius has brought them into the one spot that feels like their own private snow globe. Remus notices that a little bit of sun is peeking through the clouds now and lighting up the powder around them, faint silver and gold crystals glistening everywhere.

Remus smiles against Sirius’ mouth as their lips move languidly together, pausing every couple of seconds for one of them to breathe out a laugh in recognition of the silliness of the situation. The absurdity of it all somehow therapeutic. The simple lesson that somehow cut straight through the bullshit and helped him see more clearly what is right in front of him. 

“Aren’t you freezing?” Remus pulls back an inch away from the corner of Sirius’ mouth to ask, fully appreciating that he is now the one directly engulfed in the unpacked snow beneath them, as Sirius shakes his head. “I don’t understand how you’re just laying there right now.”

Sirius gives Remus a squeeze around the waist, warm breath blossoming against his neck. “This is exactly what I had in mind when I bought the best gear for us. So I’m doing wonderfully, thank you.”

And as _Only You_ starts blaring from the speakers by the ski lift, and the soundwaves drift into their own little sanctuary amongst the unmarked powder and wall of trees, Remus suddenly finds that he doesn’t want to erase the events of the day prior. He’s not quite sure if his name is still Remus Lupin, because he finds himself actually wanting to laugh at the memory, the absolute horrendousness of it all. 

Snowbanks and distance muffle the high notes, but the synth and bassline reach them and reverberate among the pines, landing delicately on their moment. Sirius absently hums a few notes of the melody, throat scratchy from the cold. 

_All I needed was the love you gave_ _  
_ _All I needed for another day_

Remus reaches into one of the two million pockets in his ski jacket and pulls out a fleece-lined beanie, scrambling a bit to lodge it over Sirius’ head so that he doesn’t have to crane his neck to protect himself from the snow. He takes ten more seconds to pull the hood of his ski jacket up as a second layer, and Sirius is well and truly good to go; could probably fall asleep cocooned in all of that insulating gear if he so desired. 

Sirius watches him with a soft look in his eyes, and Remus notes how unabashedly vulnerable he has made himself, how his heart is completely open to Remus without a second thought — then he notes that, in fact, it always had been. And Remus wants to protect him forever.

But before he can speak again, or even form a thought about what in the world he would say in that perfect moment, Sirius leans back up to speak softly against Remus’ ear as the music quiets down, hands laying heavier on the small of his back. 

“As an unperfect actor on the stage, who with his fear is put besides his part,” Sirius speaks without hesitation, the words flowing out of his mouth in a cadence perfectly recognizable to Remus. Words that never in a million years would Remus believe that Sirius had even read before, let alone be reciting. “Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart.”

Sirius takes a pause as his mouth travels along Remus’ exposed jaw, somehow-now-warm lips grazing over his skin, breathing him in, as Remus takes the respite to try and reign in the seering feeling that took hold of his body as soon as Sirius began reciting an actual Shakespeare sonnet. The perfect Shakespeare sonnet, actually, he revises the previous thought. Remus manages a simple exhale before Sirius starts up again, the world absolutely falling away around them. 

“So I, for fear of trust, forget to say the perfect ceremony of love’s rite,” Sirius continues, letting the words pass slowly and with feeling from his lips. “And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay, o’ercharg’d with burden of mine own love’s might.”

“Sirius,” Remus breathes out, just before he senses that Sirius is about to pick right up again, because he really cannot wait any longer.

A hum, and then, “I’m not done.”

“Sirius,” Remus levels with him this time, using the leverage offered to him in his position and lifting one hand to cradle Sirius’ face, while the other supports him.

“There are fourteen lines, Re—”

“Sirius,” Remus repeats for a third time, brushing aside a laugh, as if he wouldn’t know that little factoid. His voice is firmer this time, but the affection is maintained in it all the same, because as patient of a person as he usually is, he is hit with an undeniable urge and he physically cannot wait six lines longer.

It’s enough for Sirius to abandon the sonnet, at least for the next couple of seconds. He tilts his head back a bit, and a soft mystified smile lines his face as he looks up at Remus, the sun now beaming into their little sanctuary, and honestly, the man looks like an actual angel.

“Remus,” he echoes back in a similar tone, but with something akin to a prod in his voice. His eyes are latched onto Remus’ gaze, holding it without an ounce of hesitation or concern, and Remus can’t help but breathe out a single laugh, because once again, Sirius knows him so well. 

For _this_ is their moment.

“Sirius.” Remus repeats his name once again with a smile, dipping down to place one kiss at the corner of his mouth before pushing himself back up. “Will you marry me?”

His smile slowly expands. “Why, Remus,” he says, and sidles back a little into the snow, “I thought you would never ask.”

Despite the wave of adrenaline permeating every cell of his body, Remus still finds the wherewithal in him to dish it back. He levies Sirius with an unamused stare, but the corner of his mouth is giving him away.

Sirius breathes out a small huff of laughter as he works to remove a glove with his hands still behind Remus’ back. The black glove is tossed to the side, somewhere in the sea of snow around them, before his hand is placed along the outline of Remus’ jaw. He tips Remus’ chin down and their lips meet, the contrasting cold and heat sending chills up Remus’ spine to accompany the emotions coursing through him. 

Of all the kisses they’ve shared, he’s never felt heady like this before. 

And then Sirius pulls back. “Remus,” he says softly, thumb drifting delicately along Remus’ cheek, “It is my greatest dream come true to marry you.”

A burst of joy electrifies Remus’ body, more intensely than he ever imagined he could feel, even when he had been building up to the proposal on the mountain that never was. Happy laughter bubbles out of his mouth as Sirius’ hand weaves into the hair on the base of his neck and pulls him even closer. 

Then Remus remembers. His lips automatically detach from Sirius’, and he pats around at his coat instinctively, but he already knows it’s not there. “Shit,” he whispers.

“What’s wrong?” Sirius asks, looking around now too. “That was a yes in case you were confused,” he tacks on, ever so helpfully. 

“I didn’t bring your ring,” he admits with regret, because even though this moment _is_ perfect, as it is, he had been looking forward to sliding the ring on Sirius’ finger more than he realized. A symbol of commitment to punctuate the moment. 

Sirius hums again, completely unperturbed by the absence of his ring, though seemingly understanding of Remus’ disappointment at the same time. His ungloved hand moves from the top of Remus’ neck to his own jacket pocket. His hand, beginning to redden with cold, messes with the zipper for a moment before dipping inside. Remus muses for a moment to himself that as incredibly wonderful as this moment is, they probably should think about getting Sirius out of the snow sometime in the very near future. 

“You didn’t bring your ring for me this time,” he starts, hand sliding out of the pocket. “But maybe you’ll wear the ring I brought for you?” Sirius says, voice projecting louder than it had been, and his words are enough of a surprise to pull Remus back to the present. And not for the first time that day, his breath catches in his throat as Sirius fumbles to one-cold-handedly open the small black box.

Remus lifts himself up on one hand and slaps the air with his hand, trying in vain to get his glove to magically slip off. Sirius laughs and sets the box on his chest, using both hands to throw Remus a bone and loosen the cinch on his glove. Remus lets his weight fall onto Sirius as he uses his other hand to help get it off, but in his vigorous movement to free his hand, the momentum causes him to smack Sirius in the face with the now empty glove.

“Fuck,” Remus laughs as Sirius snorts, and he cradles Sirius’ face to leave a kiss on his slapped cheek, then his chin, then his lips. 

Sirius smiles up at Remus when he lifts away, eyes never leaving him as he grabs for the box sitting on his chest and removes the platinum ring now chilled from the cold. He takes hold of Remus’ still-warm hand and slides it seamlessly onto his finger.

 _And all I ever knew_ _  
_ _Only you_

As the song continues to play out in the distance, Remus can’t help but watch the entire week play out in his mind. The ride up to the ski resort and the anticipation about to burst through his being; the night in the hot tub, when everything was going as planned, and the positively memorable acts they had so enthusiastically partaken in to christen the beginning of their vacation; the absolute catastrophe on the mountain that he will never forget, one pole and all, not because of what a nightmare it had turned his day into, but because it opened his eyes to a depth that he hadn’t fully realized existed in his relationship. 

Because in Sirius’ roughest moment, he had used it to re-emphasize just how important Remus was in the entirety of his life, not push him away. And now Remus was going to do the same. 

_Remus’ first glance of the infuriatingly sociable, drop-dead gorgeous attorney while Remus had stalled in the security line like a common criminal._

_A $15 vending machine cup-of-ass coffee, accompanied by the sound of crunching Fritos in the background._

_Stuck in the courthouse elevator for hours, when Remus discovered he was very attracted to said attorney, and soon after, that Sirius might feel the same way too._

_A spontaneous return to the courthouse before thrusting himself into the nearly closed elevator and kissing Sirius for all he was worth, call me Ishmael._

_The first couple weeks of their new relationship, after Remus had frantically wondered how the fuck they were ever going to work out, only to receive a massive flower arrangement with a *very* inappropriate innuendo involving Moby Dick (the whale) on the card that managed to assuage all his fears._

_The fuckin’ Catalina Wine Mixer, where Remus got a little too drunk on Cabernet and champagne, insisting that it was his time to shine on the microphone, only held back from eternal shame and the inevitable search for a new job by his boyfriend who somehow understood the right time to act and how to do it persuasively._

_An awful bike ride, complete with frozen mangoes on injured body parts and Aldous Snow._

_Bowling at Sirius’ law school alumnus social event, where Remus eventually hit two pins and Sirius celebrated as though he had bowled the perfect game._

_Omelettes and dirty deeds done dirt cheap, an appreciated ritual._

_Remus’ botched proposal, abandoned on a mountain._

_Remus’ successful proposal, celebrated that night with the bottle of Law._

_The next day, when Sirius led him to his very own botched proposal on the side of a ski lift, with ‘WILL YOU MARRY ME REMUS’ written in the snow, kind of sad looking now, abandoned and surrounded by the imprint of what had been red Christmas lights._

_Their wedding, one year later._

After all, Remus could allow two ideas to exist in his mind at once: a great relationship is still great, even if there are mistakes made along the way. The montage racing through his mind with the perfect accompaniment of _Only You_ wasn’t a reel of the highest of highs, but of the deep moments — the funny, the sad, the painful, and the joyful — characterizing their lives together as a whole. And this was only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/quoththethestral)


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